Falling Down
by A-dono
Summary: Season Five AU. What if Lucas had been the one thrown through the window? Lucas-centric; Leyton eventually.
1. Late at Night

**A/N:** I've had this idea for awhile and I couldn't resist the urge to write it. I apologize to everyone who's been following my other fic, "Suddenly Everything is Clear," but that's on indefinite hiatus. I didn't really plan it out and I sort of lost my inspiration. Maybe one day I'll go back and finish it, but right now I really need to move on to other things.

Anyway, I'm not sure how long this is going to be but definitely more than ten chapters. It's highly Lucas-centric but it will also be heavily Leyton later on.

Reviews are appreciated.^-^

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**Chapter One: Late at Night**

Lucas awoke from a familiar dream into semi-darkness. The only illumination in his bedroom came from the residual ambience of the street lights outside and the sapphire hue of the night sky that seeped through the windows. There was also the red glow of the digital alarm clock on the nightstand which currently read 3:02 a.m.

As he peered at the clock, Lucas blew out a sigh. This had become a regular occurrence, waking up at odd intervals during the middle of the night. He'd been plagued with insomnia for so long now he could barely remember what it was like to get a full night's sleep. Sitting up, he tossed the comforter aside and swung his feet over the side of the bed until they came to rest on the carpet below.

For the next few minutes, Lucas simply sat in the darkness, his gaze resting on nothing in particular. It could be that he was just nervous about tomorrow, though he had no reason to be. He would be going down to Wilmington to celebrate the début of his brother's shoe, the NS 23. Since his triumphs playing for Gilmore College and the University of Maryland, Nathan had now become the tenth draft pick for the Seattle Sonics, and he had become so popular that he'd been offered a contract for his own line of custom shoes by Reebok. The profits the NS 23 were projected to generate would leave Nathan very well off, and if he made the Sonics' draft pick, he'd be a millionaire. All of his brother's dreams were coming true and Lucas was nothing but happy for him. That wasn't the problem.

The problem was that at some point Nathan and Haley would begin to lecture him as they always tended to do whenever they spent any time together, and Lucas had had enough of being lectured. They would ride him about the fact that he'd dropped out of college, or that he was working a menial job he was overqualified for, or about how he'd become such a recluse lately. He'd give them that one.

Bottom line was, though he loved his brother and sister-in-law/best friend and knew they meant well, he just didn't want to have to endure another third degree about when he was going to get his act together and actually do something with his life. He hadn't really seen much of Nathan and Haley for the past two years since they'd been away at the University of Maryland, and he had to admit that part of that was due to him being distant, but he hated that he couldn't just enjoy the company of his family without being raked over the coals.

On the plus side, he'd probably get to see Jamie, his nephew. He loved that kid to death.

Running a hand through his short, unkempt hair, Lucas stood and padded out of his bedroom. Navigating through the darkened house, he made his way to the kitchen. Flipping the light that overlooked the sink on, he retrieved a bottle of beer from the fridge and took a seat at the kitchen table.

Drinking alone in the middle of the night; not a good sign.

It wasn't something Lucas did often. Most nights when he found himself unable to sleep he would usually just sit in the living room or in the kitchen like he was now while he nursed a cup of tea or a bottle of water. And on those occasions when he felt suffocated by the confines of his home he would go down to the Rivercourt or simply wander around town, absorbing the stillness and the quiet. This particular night his nerves demanded something to loosen them up, so here he was, sipping on a beer.

The venue and the circumstances might've been ideal for an author to write something effusive and angst-ridden, but Lucas hadn't produced so much as a sentence of prose in years. He had no right to even call himself an author seeing as how he'd never had any of his work published. He'd had the opportunity to have the only novel he'd ever written, "An Unkindness of Ravens," published but he'd flushed that opportunity down the toilet along with any chance of a meaningful career.

At twenty-two, Lucas Scott's life had not turned out as he'd planned it, and he had no one to blame but himself.

So where had it all gone wrong? It all began three years ago, back when he'd still been attending classes at Gilmore College and been living with Nathan and Haley to help them take care of Jamie. He'd also been assistant coach to Whitey Durham who'd been the head coach of the Gilmore Cobras. The Cobras had been the punch line of college basketball for years until Whitey's coaching and Nathan's playing had turned things around, and before long, the team had made it to the Division II state championship.

After a fast-paced and well-played game, the Cobras took the championship and Lucas experienced for the first time what it was like to coach a team to victory after Whitey had walked off the court and left things in his hands. As confetti had snowed down upon him, and as the crowd had roared in jubilation and stormed the court, Lucas had tried to muster up the elation he knew he should've felt at the Cobras' accomplishment, but he hadn't been able to. Something had been missing; something more important than any state championship.

That something had been Peyton Sawyer, his girlfriend and the love of his life.

She was supposed to have been at the game, but wasn't able to get away from her job in Los Angeles where she lived. Lucas had been crushed, but he'd understood. However, as he'd watched his brother and his best friend, husband and wife, embrace and kiss and lift their son into their arms, he'd felt a longing so poignant it had almost brought him to tears.

He'd wanted what they had, wanted it so bad, a wife and a family, and he'd wanted it with Peyton. It was at that moment that he'd decided that he didn't want to wait anymore. He'd wanted Peyton to be his wife, he'd wanted forever with her.

So, with his mother's engagement ring, the one Keith had given her, in hand, he'd taken the first flight to L.A. with the intention of surprising Peyton. She was surprised, alright, and he'd never forget the look of pure, unadulterated joy and love on her face as she'd ran to embrace him. Afterwards, he'd planned to propose to her at the upscale downtown restaurant they'd had dinner at, but a call from her employer had cut that short. So he would do it at the room he'd reserved at the Beverly Hilton instead.

Her work kept her longer than she'd thought, though, and Lucas had accidentally dozed off while waiting for her, with the ring-box in his hand. He'd been studying it while he passed the time, picturing the future he'd thought he was destined to have with the girl of his dreams. He'd been so cocky and so arrogant, just assuming that everything would go his way. It almost made Lucas sick when he thought about it.

Lucas had eventually awoken to find Peyton sitting in the chair across from the bed, the ring-box in her hand. He'd taken a moment to just bask in the beauty that was Peyton Sawyer. Her soft blonde curls, her impossibly green eyes, her lithe and shapely frame, all decked out in torn hip-hugging jeans and a black band-t over a white long-sleeved t-shirt. The elegance and the passion that she radiated, all of it reminded Lucas of why this girl was like no other and why he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

"_Luke, what is this?" she'd asked tentatively. "I was afraid to open it."_

It was then that Lucas had awkwardly proposed. He'd never once doubted himself, or that the answer would be anything other than 'yes.'

Idiot.

He got down on one knee and asked her to be his wife. She said no.

Well technically, she'd said "someday," but what was "someday" supposed to mean? Someday was an ambiguous term that had no real definition. It might as well have been a straight-out no. As Peyton had calmly explained to him all the reasons it was too early for marriage, all Lucas had been able to feel was the scorpion-sting of rejection. He argued all the reasons they could and should get married but she shot down every one of his arguments.

Later, after things had quelled down, Lucas had laid next to her on the bed, wide awake while she slept. He could remember the way she'd smelled, a combination of her shampoo and the more intimate scent that was uniquely Peyton. He could remember the way she'd felt, pressed up against him, her soft curls tickling his face, her warmth infusing his every pore. And he could remember doubting her, and her love for him, and everything they were supposed to be. He could also remember coming to the gut-wrenching realization that it would probably be the last time he'd ever get to breathe in her scent or feel her that way.

As morning approached, Lucas had disentangled himself from Peyton and went to sit in the chair she'd occupied earlier. He sat there turning the ring-box over and over in his hands until the rays of the morning sun had penetrated the room. He was sitting there when she woke up.

With everything in him, Lucas had pleaded his case one last time hoping to convince her to marry him. It didn't work. They began to argue, and then arguing had turned to yelling, and finally yelling had turned to near screaming. It was the worst fight they'd ever had since they'd known each other. Words were exchanged that could never be taken back and feelings had been hurt that couldn't be unhurt.

And then the proverbial Sword of Damocles fell and everything ended.

"_I don't know what to say to you anymore, Lucas!" she practically yelled. "I can't do this! You're making this all or nothing and I can't deal with that! Not when I have so much going on in my life. So I think it would be best if you just go. I'm sorry Lucas."_

_Stricken, he stared at her for a full fifteen seconds. "Fine," he finally replied. "I'll go." He could barely keep from choking up._

And so he'd left. He'd tossed the mix she'd made him on to the bed next to her and then he'd gathered up his luggage and walked out of that hotel room. And when he'd heard an agonized wail rise up from within the room he'd just left a part of him died.

It all went downhill from there.

Lucas hadn't even realized he'd finished his beer until he lifted the now empty bottle to his lips. For an unbelievable moment, it seemed to him that the shadows that lurked in the hallway and in the corners of the kitchen the sink light couldn't reach had suddenly come to life and were glaring at him. Must've been the beer, he could already feel the effects of it.

However, he knew the lightheadedness that he felt and the coil of anxiety that had nested within his stomach had nothing to do with the alcohol. He got like this whenever he thought about _her_. Lucas felt as though the gravitational field of the entire planet had suddenly focused into a single point directly beneath his heart. Peyton was gone. She was in the city of angels conquering the world and probably dating someone, someone who was better looking and more successful than Lucas and who was smart enough to be patient with her and not ambush her with a proposal.

No more lazy evenings listening to classic records.

No more late night marathons of old black-and-white horror movies.

No more walks on the beach or days at their favorite spots just sitting and basking in a comfortable silence as he read and she drew.

No more spontaneous road trips to concerts or leisurely drives down the back roads of Tree Hill.

No more nights with her in his arms, her chin resting on top of his chest and legs entwined with his.

No more saving her.

No more Peyton.

It had been three years, and Lucas still hadn't come to terms with that. Maybe he ought to see a shrink or something because clearly that couldn't be healthy.

He stood up and pushed the chair back under the table. Disposing of his beer bottle and turning off the sink light, Lucas stumbled back to his bedroom through the gloom, slightly unsteady from fatigue and the beer he'd had. Might do to try and get a couple of hours of sleep before morning came and he had to rendezvous with Nathan and Haley.

He couldn't remember the dream that had woken him earlier. Something to do with jagged fragments of shattered glass and blood on pavement. It was now just garbled nonsense in his subconscious, but it had seemed like a dream he'd had a few times throughout the past week. There'd been a disturbing sense of familiarity about it that he couldn't quite pinpoint.

In his bedroom now, Lucas got into bed and pulled the covers up about halfway. As he tried to settle himself into sleep, nervous anticipation of the next day's events still buzzing within him, Lucas put the dream out of his mind.

He had no way of knowing at the time that the dream had been an omen.

**~Chapter One End**


	2. Shards

**A/N:** I figured I should post this chapter quickly since it does kind of satisfy the concept of the story. I appreciate those that took the time to review the first chapter and hope more will follow.

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**Chapter Two: Shards**

The Range was a rather upscale sports bar located in downtown Wilmington, but it wasn't upscale in a snooty way, nor did the place radiate an aura of exclusion directed towards any of society's so-called lower-crust. It was impressive to look at, the entrance flanked by ceiling-to-floor plate-glass windows that were meticulously spotless and an interior that was spacious and boasted a high ceiling.

The bar top sported finely polished oak and the tops of the bar stools and the couches arrayed around the joint were made of fine black leather, all resting upon a striking red velvet carpet. Several plasma screen television sets were mounted on walls and high up looking downward, broadcasting any number of different sports in high definition. And of course, the bar was stocked with a wide assortment of fine alcohols and beverages.

Conversely, the walls of The Range were composed of weathered red brick, lending a humble and cozy vibe to the place. This was compounded by how cheap and affordable most of the items served at the bar were, and because of that, on any given night, The Range attracted a diverse crowd of patrons. From working-class stiffs, to yuppies, to lawyers and corporate execs, all of them came to The Range to relax, have a few beers, and take in a ballgame or boxing match or whatever stoked their interest. The owner obviously chose an appropriate name for the place.

Lucas sat on one of the many plush leather couches beside Nathan and Haley who were currently engaged in a conversation with three execs from Reebok whose names Lucas honestly couldn't remember. He had tuned out the conversation long ago and was simply sitting and nursing his beer. Although the place was as lively as ever, it wasn't crowded and the noise level wasn't such that you had trouble hearing the person next to you. Lucas was grateful for that. He hated crowds.

In spite of his apprehension the previous night, the day had gone pretty smoothly. Lucas had met up with Nathan and Haley at the house they owned in Tree Hill early this morning and had taken Jamie off their hands so the couple could have the day to themselves. He loved spending time with his nephew so it had been no chore for Lucas. He and Jamie had had a great time down at the Rivercourt and throughout the afternoon and early evening, they had loitered around the park and the boardwalk, sipping on sodas and sucking on ice-cream cones. It was rare that Lucas got to spend a day with his nephew like this because Nathan and Haley had lived in another state for the past two years, but whenever he did get the chance to spend time with Jamie, he always felt so cleansed afterward. The kid was so witty and intelligent for his age, and so full of life and energy and innocence that you couldn't help but feel reinvigorated after being around him.

Eventually, after leaving Jamie with the sitter, he, Nathan and Haley had had dinner at one of their favorite restaurants in Tree Hill before driving up to Wilmington, and surprisingly it had been pleasant. No lectures, or comments or critiques about the way he was living his life. It had almost felt like old times.

Taking another sip of his Coors, Lucas froze suddenly, his attention drawn to something in his peripheral vision. A flash of blond curls. But it couldn't be.

There, at the bar. Lucas shifted his gaze to his right and his crystal blue eyes landed upon a woman with dark-blond shoulder-length hair arrayed in flaxen curls. She was tall with a slender and streamlined body that was sporting a royal-blue strapless dress.

Lucas felt his heart speed up and his breath leave him. His pulse pounded in his ears. Was it really her? If so, what was she doing here? Had Nathan or Haley invited her without telling him? Why would they do that? A million thoughts and questions ricocheted through his mind.

And then the woman turned around to scan the crowd in back of her, and instead of emerald green he was met with icy-blue. The woman's features were round and heart-shaped rather than sharp and angular. It wasn't her.

His eyes tightly shut, Lucas allowed his vitals to return to normal before he opened his eyes and took a long drag from the bottle still in his hand. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Lucas couldn't count the number of times he'd be walking down the street or in his car and would see a woman with a head of blond curls and think it was her for a second. But then even a familiar song or the scent of a certain perfume or shampoo could remind him of her. It didn't take much.

But in the end, it was never Peyton.

Placing his bottle down on the glass table that occupied the space between the two sets of couches, Lucas suddenly felt someone's gaze on him, and when he turned to his left, he spotted Haley staring at him with a look of concern in her chocolate-brown eyes.

Lucas sighed inwardly and looked away self-consciously. He got looks like that from her all the time nowadays, and though he knew his best friend's concern was born out of love, it still irritated and unsettled him. Nathan was guilty of this as well, though not as much as Haley. Neither of them were happy with the decisions he'd made the past few years, and if he was being honest with himself, neither was Lucas, but it was what it was.

The focal-point of their ire was his getting expelled from Gilmore two and a half years ago which had coincided with his getting fired as head coach of the Cobras. Whitey had definitely not been pleased about that, either.

Two years ago, after the disastrous proposal incident, he'd been a virtual zombie when he'd returned from LA. Lucas hadn't cared about anything, certainly not coursework or his coaching duties. The only thing he'd been able to focus on had been the enormous hole where his heart had once been, and he'd attempted to fill it with alcohol and self-pity. Long story short, it came to the point where he only attended his classes when he got bored with everything else and he never made an effort to turn in his assignments or show up for the exams. So after failing all of his classes the following semester, Lucas's GPA had dropped below the 2.0 line and they kicked him out. Simple as that.

Haley went ballistic. In all the years he had known her, Lucas had never seen her so enraged. Nathan had actually had to physically restrain her and feed her a Zannex to calm her down. His mother had been heartbroken and had refused to take his calls for weeks at a time. There was no doubt that Lucas had been in a pretty dark place that year, probably the darkest place he'd ever been in, and it had definitely strained his relationship with his family and friends to the near breaking point.

After his expulsion, Lucas had returned to Tree Hill and to his childhood home. His mother had left it in his name after she'd rekindled her relationship with Andy and joined him on the high seas, taking his little sister Lily with her. He'd found work at the auto shop Keith had once owned, which now belonged to a man named Earl Loman. Earl had been one of Keith's oldest friends and was remarkably similar in character. He was an honest man and an honest mechanic and when he'd decided to expand the shop and had needed additional workers, he'd been thrilled to take Lucas on as a full time employee. It wasn't exactly a six-figure salary, but Lucas worked hard and he worked a lot of overtime so he had no problem making ends meet. Besides, he genuinely enjoyed the work. That shop held a lot of memories for Lucas and being there made him feel closer to Keith in some ways.

So lost in his thoughts, he hadn't heard Haley when she initially spoke.

"Luke? Lucas!"

He snapped out of his reverie and met Haley's eyes, as well as Nathan's, who was also staring at him now.

"You okay?" she asked. "You looked like you were a million miles away."

"Sorry. Just lost in thought," he replied.

"Would those thoughts happen to involve a certain blond-haired girl who likes old vinyl records and…OW!" Nathan's sudden outcry was in response to Haley smacking him, hard. She hissed a reprimand to him in a low tone, but not low enough to escape the attention of the three representatives from Reebok who had stopped chatting amongst themselves to glance over at them curiously.

Lucas could only smile sardonically. Nathan was trying to get a rise out of him, but he wasn't going to take the bait.

Haley turned her attention back to Lucas. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Hales, I'm fine." He hoped he sounded convincing. "I'm sorry I zoned out. Won't happen again."

Haley looked at him hard for a minute before sighing and turning away. Lucas knew she was just itching to corner him sometime later in order to grill him, and in fact, he'd had an inkling she'd wanted to do that all day. Something to look forward to.

Nathan glanced at his watch. "Anyway, soon as Barry gets his ass in gear, we can get on with the show."

"He better," Haley responded. "The sitter's time is almost up and I don't want to force her into overtime."

As if on cue, the man in question showed up carrying a box that no doubt contained Nathan's shoe.

Barry Paige was a high-ranking executive of Reebok. He had personally spearheaded the development of Nathan's shoe line and had been very accommodating to him. He was in his early thirties, bespectacled, and had somewhat patrician features, a slight build, and finely groomed dark hair.

"I'm very sorry, but there was an accident on the freeway and traffic was murder," he said. "I'm afraid I can't stay long as I have a dinner engagement I can't miss, but I wanted to be here personally to do the honors."

"That's okay. I still can't believe this is really happening and I know it wouldn't have without your hard work, so thank you," Nathan said.

Barry shook his head. "You're the brand, I just market it. Oh, and I took the liberty of reserving a limo for you in case you aren't up to driving. It's waiting a few blocks down the street."

"Thanks man, you're way too generous."

"It's all a testament to your success," Barry replied. "Now, should we get on to the main event?"

There was a chorus of "yes's" in response, and Haley grasped her husband's hand and whispered something in his ear that made him smile. At that instant, Lucas suddenly felt his mood lighten considerably. He was so proud of his brother, and being here to witness his success was uplifting. Better yet, it made him feel like he was back in the fold. Lucas knew he'd been distant from those close to him lately, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity to change that. It was shaping up to be a great night.

Barry stood up, facing the group, and slowly unveiled the shoe. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced. "The NS 23."

The air filled up with applause and Nathan quickly reached for the shoe. "Let me see it." Barry handed him the shoe and Nathan held it as if it were a crown jewel, which to him it probably was. He showed it to Haley next and the pride and love she radiated was almost visible to the eye.

Nathan turned back to Barry. "Barry, thank you so much." The two men shook hands, and then Barry said he was already late for his dinner engagement and, after another round of gratitude from Nathan and Haley, made a hasty departure.

"Oh baby, that's awesome," Haley said. "I have to go relieve the sitter, but you guys should stay and celebrate."

"You sure?" Nathan asked.

"Yeah," she replied as she stood up. She turned to the Reebok execs. "Thank you guys."

"Okay, see you later tonight, and drive safe," Nathan said.

"I will." She gave Nathan a kiss and exchanged a quick hug with Lucas and then she left.

Lucas slid over toward Nathan. "Give it up."

"Check it out." Nathan handed him the shoe and Lucas chuckled. It was streamlined and stylish and would undoubtedly sell out the first week. Clinking their beer bottles together, Lucas and Nathan exchanged cheers and for a little while longer they made small talk with the trio of execs, until they too had to leave.

Lucas was going to ask Nathan something about Jamie, but before he could, they were approached by a quartet of guys. They each looked to be about late-twentyish and were dressed in casual clothes. The guy in front, a short preppy-looking type with long dirty-blond hair held a piece of paper in his hand and extended it towards Nathan.

"Hey man, can I get an autograph?" he asked.

"Sure," Nathan replied, accepting the slip of paper.

Though he wasn't sure why, Lucas sensed an air of phoniness about the guy. There was an aura of malice that underlined his chummy demeanor. His intuition was quickly proven right.

"Thanks. Yeah, just write, 'To Greg, Portland's biggest fan,'" he paused and then moved in close to Nathan, a vicious sneer forming on his lips. "'Seattle sucks, and so do I!'" This earned a round of hyena-like chuckles from the other guys in Greg's group.

Lucas snorted. The night wouldn't have been complete without an encounter with a pack of testosterone spewing assholes who took professional basketball way too seriously. Lucas was fairly sure Greg wouldn't have been nearly as abrasive or bold had he not had his buddies with him. Typical moron.

Instead of flaring up in anger like Lucas half-expected him to, Nathan just calmly stared at the idiot for a few seconds, and then began to write on the slip of paper. "'To Greg'" he recited as he wrote. "'Enjoy losing to us next year, your pal Nathan Scott.'" He handed the slip back to Greg. "There you go buddy."

Lucas wanted to laugh, but Greg was no longer amused. He grabbed the slip roughly, crumpled it up, and tossed it aside. That provoked Nathan into action, and he whipped to his feet getting in the guy's face. "You got a problem, man?"

Lucas was on his feet a split-second later, interposing himself between Nathan and Greg. "No, no, walk away," he pleaded. He could feel the impending violence in the air. Particularly, there was one guy in Greg's pack that seemed to be seething with the desire to bust someone's skull. He was the tallest one of the group, about six-foot-four, dark buzz-cut hair, broad-shouldered and built like a tank. He was currently poised and ready, as if eagerly anticipating a fight. Lucas wanted to avoid that at all costs.

"You got too much to lose," Lucas reasoned, hoping Nathan would step down.

"C'mon man, let's see what you got!" Greg taunted.

"You got too much to lose here, okay?" Lucas repeated once again, hoping to drown out Greg's obnoxious jabber.

Fortunately, Nathan had gotten the message. "Alright, alright."

Briskly, via silent agreement, they went back to their seats, gathered their things and proceeded toward the door past the unruly quartet. Unfortunately, Greg the Perpetual Frat Boy had to have the last word. "Yeah, that's it, listen to your girlfriend."

Lucas had to fight the urge to punch the guy himself. Nathan bristled, but instead of turning back towards the guy, he quickened his pace and was out the door several steps ahead of Lucas. The night sky was inky black and the street was mostly deserted save for only a few cars that passed now and then.

Unconcerned about cross-traffic, Nathan dashed across the street, still visibly agitated. When Lucas caught up to him, he rested a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You did the right thing, Nate. The guy's just some random ass who means nothing. Don't worry about him."

Nathan nodded, but his jaw was clenched tightly and the lines of anger had not completely faded from his face. Though he'd come a long way from the arrogant and self-destructive boy he'd been before he'd met Haley, Nathan still had trouble controlling his temper sometimes. "You're right. I just want to go home."

"Sit tight. I'll go get the limo," Lucas said. Leaving his brother alone for a moment, he set off in search of the limo which was parked a few blocks down. He located the driver, who was having coffee in a nearby Starbucks, and after telling him they were ready to go, he started back toward where he'd left Nathan.

But when he got there, Nathan was gone.

Lucas swore when he heard the sounds of a commotion coming from inside The Range, and he picked up into a run, his stomach dropping. Through one of the plate-glass windows, he took in the scene: his brother being held from behind by one of Greg's goons while another goon, the six-foot-four brute, mercilessly pounded on him as stunned bystanders gaped at the spectacle.

Without even thinking, or considering the consequences, Lucas was in motion, already mentally preparing himself for a fight. Inside the bar, Lucas went straight for the brute. Cocking his left arm, he unleashed the most powerful left hook he could muster, putting his entire body into the swing. His blow connected squarely with the brute's cheek, and his head snapped to his left. However, the brute barely reacted otherwise and Lucas's arm felt like a raw nerve. It'd been like punching concrete.

Using Lucas's intervention to his advantage, and no longer subjected to the brute's punishing blows, Nathan freed himself from the grip of the other guy and began to turn the tables on his assailant. Lucas took the time to notice that Greg was down and out cold on the floor while the fourth member of the unruly quartet was nowhere in sight, apparently wise enough not to involve himself in the fracas.

But even though it was two-on-two, Lucas still felt outmatched. The brute had four inches and about thirty pounds over Lucas and he was built like a boxer. He glowered at Lucas, eyes full of alcohol-induced rage. Frighteningly fast, he closed the distance. Lucas threw a jab at his torso but it was like punching a tractor-tire and the brute didn't even blink. Instead, he seized Lucas's neck in a vice-like grip and delivered his own jab to Lucas's solar plexus.

It was like being gored by a steel beam. The air in his lungs deserted him and Lucas felt like throwing up. The brute landed another iron punch to his abdomen, and then another, and Lucas could've sworn he heard a rib or two break. Feeling as though he was going to pass out, Lucas somehow summoned the strength to head-butt the brute. White hot pain exploded in his skull, but Lucas was rewarded with a crunching sound and a yelp of pain from the brute. The brute held the bloody mass that was now his nose, but he still didn't let go of Lucas, un-phased by his now broken nose.

The brute's rage seemed to boil over even more and he suddenly grabbed Lucas's right arm with his other hand. He struggled as hard as he could, but, weakened and shaky from the brute's blows, Lucas's resistance was all but useless. Abruptly, the brute freed Lucas's neck from the grip of his meaty hand only to grab hold of his shirt. Lucas clawed at the brute's arms to no effect. He tried to kick against him or knee the giant in a sensitive spot, but his legs didn't seem to want to respond to his commands.

The brute began to push forward and as he did so, he started to swing Lucas around until he was dragging him along from the side. As they picked up speed and momentum, the brute swung Lucas all the way around. And then he finally let go.

For a split second, Lucas was airborne. Dizzy, seeing spots, nauseous and weak, Lucas nonetheless retained an instant of perfect awareness where time seemed to slow to a crawl. In that instant, Lucas knew his life was about to change drastically. He sensed it. And all because of a stupid bar fight.

Lucas's body shattered the plate-glass window and he tumbled onto the sidewalk outside, a blizzard of glass shards sprinkling down on and around him. A spike of molten-hot pain pierced his back and spread throughout the rest of his spine like wildfire. In his twenty-two years of being alive Lucas had never felt such agony. He couldn't even scream. His breath caught in his throat and the only sound that came from his mouth was a strangled wheezing.

Then the agony changed from molten hot and fiery, to icy. And before long, the pain transformed into a frigid numbness. His legs were gone, or at least, they were gone from his senses because all he could feel were pins and needles. Lucas didn't need to try to know that he couldn't move them.

Nathan's face suddenly appeared above his as he kneeled over him. He was saying something but Lucas couldn't make it out. "Nate…I can't feel my legs," Lucas groaned out, though he didn't know if he'd even managed to speak the words. His brother was now looking up and around and shouting, but Lucas still couldn't hear what he was saying.

Gradually, Nathan and the night sky and the streetlights began to fade, and Lucas knew he was losing consciousness, and he didn't know whether he'd ever wake up again. So before he plunged into total darkness, possibly forever, Lucas summoned an image in his mind, something to hold onto during his eternal sleep.

He summoned Peyton's face.

And then he was gone.

**~Chapter Two End**


	3. Trauma

**A/N:** I'm extremely grateful to everyone that has read and reviewed this story so far, and to everyone who added it to their story alert and favorite lists. It means a great deal to me, so thank you. In return, I give you another prompt update.

bendecida82 - All your questions about Peyton will be answered in chapter five, so you'll have to bare with me for awhile.;) Keep in mind that in the four years since high school, the core five have become somewhat splintered. Brooke and Peyton are on separate ends of the country involved in time-consuming work, and with everything going on with Nathan and his career, Haley and Peyton don't keep in touch quite like they used to. But as I said, this will all be expounded upon in future chapters.

Also, it'll be a few days before I update again as I need time to write the upcoming chapters. Reviews are appreciated and any questions will be answered to the best of my ability in the next author's note.

One more thing. I'm not a clinical expert and I'm not sure how phony the medical jargon in this chapter is going to sound. If I were writing an actual novel I'd do extensive research on the matter, but since this is just a fanfic, I'm going to wing it.

Till next time.^_^

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**Chapter Three: Trauma**

It was as if Lucas was immersed in the very deepest part of the ocean, so deep that no light from above was able to reach it. He was suspended in liquid blackness, every muscle perfectly relaxed. It was not an unpleasant experience, and in fact, Lucas didn't think it was possible to feel any more at peace. He was light years away from all the problems that plagued his life on the surface, and he was no longer burdened by troublesome memories. There was just pure tranquility.

Nothing lasts forever, though, and Lucas began to feel himself being lifted upwards. Pale light soon dispelled the utter darkness, and that pale light gradually became brighter. He was rising more rapidly now and he could see the surface of the ocean before him. He wanted to resist, but he couldn't. Lucas's ears registered a faint yet steady beeping that became louder as he drifted upward. Finally, he broke the surface and his eyes opened.

He was met with faded white ceiling tile instead of blue sky and it took him a few seconds to realize he was not floating on the surface of the ocean but lying in a bed. The measured beeping had not faded with the dream, and it seemed to originate from somewhere to Lucas's left. He was fuzzy-headed and disoriented and his thought processes were severely muddled, but he was still able to determine that the device that produced the beeping was an EKG monitor. He was in a hospital.

Right then, the pain ambushed him. Lucas suddenly felt as though he were lying on a bed of nails. Like someone had rammed a row of railroad spikes into his spine. A bone-deep ache penetrated his back in jagged arcs and he inhaled sharply at the sudden onslaught. It all came back to him. The fight against the brute in The Range, getting thrown through that window, the white hot pain in his back, his legs going numb.

Now alarmed, Lucas attempted to move his legs but nothing happened. He couldn't feel a thing beneath his extremities, and he couldn't even flex as much as a pinky toe. He was paralyzed. Not completely, as his torso and arms still responded just fine, and (Thank God) his private parts as well, but his legs might as well have been petrified meat. This had to be a sick joke.

His alarm metastasized into panic and then into despair. Lucas was going to have to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. He would never again be able glide across the Rivercourt, the ball in his hands and the thrill of the game pumping through his veins. And what about work? It would be difficult to service cars in a crowded shop with fifty percent of his mobility gone. So where did that leave him? Reliance on the government for the rest of his days? Lucas would rather die.

The insistent ache continued to throb in his back and Lucas desperately wanted to return to that dark sea he'd existed in when he'd been unconscious. Trying to calm himself down, Lucas focused all his attention on his surroundings. The walls of the hospital room were a depressing grey. There were windows on either side of the bed, covered up by blinds. It was night out so the only illumination in the room came from the single light fixture active on the ceiling and the light that spilled in from the open door. Lucas's was the only hospital bed in the room so it was obviously a single. Two plastic chairs sat empty near the bed, probably belonging to Nathan and Haley.

Lucas hated hospitals with a passion. This was the third time he'd had to wake up in a hospital bed and his circumstances now were by far the worst out of all those occasions. After all, last time he'd still had the use of his legs and he'd had Peyton by his side. This time he had neither.

A shadow appeared in the doorway, and at first, Lucas couldn't make out any identifying characteristics of the silhouette. When the person stepped further into the room, it turned out to be his brother. With dark circles framing his eyes and his chin-length dark hair in disarray, it was obvious that Nathan hadn't slept in twenty-four hours. When he realized Lucas was awake his ashen face lit up.

"Luke, man, you're awake," he said, voice filled with relief and joy. "Thank God."

Nathan enveloped Lucas in a hug which was awkward, both because he was laid up in a hospital bed and because he and Nathan didn't hug very often. His throat was like raw concrete and Lucas had to cough and clear it before he could force out any words, and even then, his voice was raspy. "How…how long was…?"

"About a day," Nathan replied, instantly guessing what he was about to ask. Unbidden, he grabbed a pitcher of water from the nightstand near the bed and poured some into a cup, offering it to Lucas. The water stung his throat at first but quickly became soothing, lubricating his neglected vocal cords. As he sipped, Nathan continued talking. "You were in and out of surgery all day yesterday. The doctor said you'd wake up eventually, but we were scared to death. I'm glad you're okay."

"Half of me is," Lucas responded despondently.

Guilt flared in Nathan's eyes. "Yeah, look, about that. The doctor said it might not be permanent. They said that with enough therapy you could be walking again in a few months."

Lucas dared to let a spark of hope burn within him. But then Nathan's words sunk in. "'Probably?'"

"Well, there are no guarantees. Anyway, the doctor will probably tell you everything you want to know. I'll go get the nurse and Haley," he said and turned to leave.

"Nathan," Lucas called out.

His brother stopped and turned back toward him.

"What the hell happened? I was gone for only a minute." Maybe this wasn't the best time to be bringing this up, but Lucas needed to know.

Nathan's face clouded with anguish and remorse. He could no longer meet Lucas's eyes and instead stared at the cheap marble tile of the floor. "God Luke, I am so sorry. It's all my fault. I was outside the bar waiting for you when I heard that Greg-guy yelling about how I hit him and how he was going to sue me. I never hit him but he was telling people that I had. So I went back to confront him and it was stupid and I should've walked away but I wasn't thinking. And then he said something about Haley and I just lost it. I punched him and knocked him out, but two of his buddies overwhelmed me. I was getting wailed on until you showed up. You saved me, man."

For a few seconds after Nathan's explanation there was silence in the room. Finally, Lucas spoke. "Does Haley know all this?"

"Yeah," Nathan whispered, and from the tone of his voice and the look on his face, Lucas could tell it had not been a pleasant conversation between husband and wife.

"You should go get the nurse."

"Luke…" Nathan began, but Lucas cut him off.

"Nate, I really want to speak to a doctor so could you please just get the nurse?"

"Alright," Nathan said and left the room.

Lucas sighed. He didn't know what he was supposed to think or how he was supposed feel but Nathan's guilt had been too much to handle. Truth be told, he really didn't feel any anger toward Nathan, but he was furious at the situation.

Haley came in a moment later, her eyes raw from crying and excessive wakefulness. She practically threw herself on top of Lucas, wrapping him in a fierce hug. His back flared and his ribs seemed to creak, no doubt injured after the hits he'd taken from the brute. His involuntary groan tipped her off to his discomfort and she pulled back, stammering out an apology.

"God Luke, I was so worried," she whispered, raw with emotion.

"It's okay, Hales," Lucas reassured her.

"No, it's not okay! You're not okay! You could've…"

"Hales, it's okay," he said more slowly and hopefully with more confidence. He tried to muster up a smile.

Haley sighed and took a seat in one of the chairs near the bed. She looked exhausted and Lucas wanted to tell her to go home and get some sleep but he knew she wouldn't listen to him.

"Thank you," she said suddenly.

"For what?"

"For coming to Nathan's rescue," she replied. "It could've been him lying there right now in your position if you hadn't saved him. I'm just so sorry this happened to you." Her voice broke.

Lucas reached out and took her hand. "He's my brother, Hales. He would've done the same for me. And anyway, it's not your fault."

Haley nodded and squeezed his hand, throwing him a watery smile. "You're the best brother anyone could ever ask for, Luke."

Lucas just shook his head. "I shouldn't have left him alone. I don't know why I did, I could tell he was still hot under the collar. That was stupid of me."

"Lucas Eugene Scott, do not blame yourself! This was not your fault. You can't always carry the world on your shoulders."

"I can try."

"Well stop trying," she commanded half-jokingly, and Lucas felt some of the tension leave the air. They settled into a comfortable silence for awhile, until Haley broke it.

"Oh, I got a hold of your mom. She was sailing off the coast of Greece. Andy's boat should be docking in Tree Hill tomorrow," she explained.

"How did she take it when you told her what happened?" he asked.

"Not well," Haley replied. "She sounded like she was barely holding it together."

Lucas nodded regrettably. The last thing he wanted was for his mom to have to interrupt her long-earned vacation. He also didn't want her or his little sister to see him like this. They weren't the only ones, either.

"Haley, could you do me a favor?"

"Sure, anything," she responded, her chocolate-brown eyes full of curiosity.

"Don't call Peyton."

"What?"

"After the way things ended and with everything I have on my plate now, I just couldn't handle having her around," he explained. "So please, don't call her. I don't want her to know what happened."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Dead sure, Hales."

"Okay," she relented. "If that's what you want."

"You can't tell Brooke, either."

Haley frowned. "Why not?"

"Because she'll tell Peyton," he explained. "I know it's a lot to ask but I need you to promise me you won't tell either Brooke or Peyton about this."

"Okay, I promise," she said, though reluctantly.

Lucas hadn't seen or spoken to Brooke since his break-up with Peyton. He assumed the brunette had closed ranks around Peyton, and that maybe she blamed him for what happened. Whatever the case, he knew she would never keep things from her best friend, so it was best if she remained out of the loop.

It wouldn't be that difficult. Neither Peyton nor Brooke had set foot in Tree Hill once in four years, not even on holidays. No chance of running into them by accident. A part of Lucas lamented at how fractured their circle of friends had become, and an immensely large part of him yearned for Peyton's presence. But given his current circumstances, it was for the best. Lucas would be mortified to have the girl that had stolen his heart so long ago see him like this.

Haley pulled him out of his thoughts. "Luke…"

"Yeah?"

"You still love her, don't you?" she asked, rhetorically.

It was also loaded. But the question had a simple and obvious answer, as well, one Lucas knew without a doubt, even if he didn't want to voice it.

Fortunately, before he could respond, Nathan returned with the nurse. She checked his vitals, asked a few rudimentary questions, and then set up a morphine drip much to Lucas's relief. She told him the doctor was still making his rounds and would be in to see him in a few minutes.

After the nurse left, an awkward silence set in among the three of them. The tension between Nathan and Haley was palpable and Lucas wanted to be anywhere else but in the middle. He felt bad for Jamie who really wouldn't have a choice later on, and he hoped the storm in their relationship would pass relatively quickly for his nephew's sake.

Nathan still wouldn't meet Lucas's eyes for the most part, but eventually, his brother did meet his gaze. He could see the ocean of self-loathing and remorse churning within Nathan's pupils. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but once again they were interrupted, this time by the doctor.

"Ah Lucas, glad to see you're awake," he greeted. "I'm Dr. Capshaw."

He was a slight man with sloped shoulders, about average height, but the aura of intelligence and competence he radiated made him seem bigger. He was in his early fifties with a receding salt-and-pepper hairline. He exchanged greetings with Nathan and Haley, obviously already familiar with them.

Dr. Capshaw then turned to Lucas. "I trust the morphine is helping with the pain?"

"A little bit," Lucas replied.

"Well unfortunately, it's something you're going to have to contend with for awhile," he explained.

"How long?" Nathan piped in.

Dr. Capshaw shrugged. "It's impossible to say with these types of injuries. There is medication I can prescribe you to help contain the pain, but nothing that can eliminate it all together I'm afraid."

"I'll manage," Lucas said.

"I'm sure you will," Dr. Capshaw replied good-naturedly. "You had one cracked rib and three bruised ones. Have they been giving you much grief?"

"With my back the way it is I hadn't even noticed I had any other injuries."

"Don't worry about your ribs, they'll heal in no time," he said.

"But my legs won't," Lucas said, a gorge of fear rising in him. "I still can't feel them or move them."

Dr. Capshaw sighed. "Your spinal cord was pierced by a two-inch shard of glass, Lucas. It lacerated several major nerve-endings, which is what's causing the intense pain, and it also inflicted extensive damage to the nerves that essentially govern the legs and feet."

Lucas shut his eyes for a moment. All because of a stupid, goddamned bar brawl, he thought angrily.

"Aside from your legs, is any other part of your body numb or failing to respond? What about your extremities?" Dr. Capshaw asked delicately.

"No, it's just my legs," Lucas replied.

Dr. Capshaw nodded. "Good. Believe it or not, it could've been a lot worse. If that glass had been any deeper it could've resulted in full body paralysis."

"Is his 'condition' permanent?" Haley asked, trepidation coloring her voice.

Dr. Capshaw looked at all of them for a moment and Lucas immediately knew what the doctor had to say would crush the small sparkle of hope in him. The older man gathered himself before he spoke. "As I said before, with these types of injuries, it's impossible to predict exactly what will happen since they're all different. At this point, only time will tell and we'll have to take things one day at a time."

"Meaning?" Lucas prodded.

"Meaning, the best case scenario is that in a few months you could be up and walking," he said.

"And the worst case scenario?" Nathan asked.

"The worst case scenario is that you may never regain mobility in your legs and that you'll have to spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair," he said gravely.

"Oh God," Haley whispered in anguish. Nathan went ghost-white, shook his head, and promptly left the room.

Lucas, meanwhile, couldn't even speak. He was ice-cold on the inside. Frozen shards of fear pierced him much like the shard of glass had pierced his spine. So this was it. His life as an independent and self-reliant person was over. His whole world had just become an inescapable nightmare.

"Now, I don't want you to lose hope and grow despondent. That's the worst thing you could do at this point," Dr. Capshaw pleaded. "After you're released in a week, we'll start you on physical therapy and we'll go from there."

Lucas didn't respond, still numb.

Dr. Capshaw placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "It may not seem like it right now, but there's still hope. You're going to have work hard and it is going to be painful, though. You seem like a strong young man and I'm confident you'll pull through. Just don't give up."

He then excused himself to go make other rounds but said he'd be back to check on him later. Alone with Haley, Lucas watched as his best friend collapsed into a chair, seemingly in shock. Silently, she took his hand in both of hers and the two just stared at one another, unable to speak, because there really wasn't anything that could be said.

In the past, when Lucas had been faced with insurmountable odds and shattering loss, he had always found a foothold; a way to overcome the thing that stood in his way. He had always found the light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how dark and endless the tunnel had seemed. But now, Lucas couldn't find that foothold or the light at the end of the tunnel. All he could see before him was an endless abyss that seemed to leer at him as he tumbled into it.

The other day, when he'd passed out on the street, believing he would never wake up again, Lucas had pictured Peyton in his head. He found himself doing so again now. He tried to lose himself in her blond curls and green eyes, in that sarcastic half-smile of hers, and in her creamy skin.

He wanted her to take him away from the trauma that was his reality.

**~Chapter Three End**


	4. Another Late Night

**A/N:** I'll be upfront and say that not much really happens in this chapter, it's basically transitional. I can tell you that the next chapter will be completely from Peyton's perspective, and come chapter six, there will be a three month time jump. We'll get to that later, though.

bendecida82 - I always love your reviews.;) Anyway, Haley's not going to do anything that would potentially make Lucas uncomfortable. You know how protective she is of him, and currently, it's kind of become a form of blind appeasement. But don't worry, Peyton will come into the picture very soon.

LPfan4ever - Nathan is feeling so guilty about what happened, he'll do anything Lucas asks him to. Like I told bendecida, Peyton will play her part eventually.

Chapter five should be up in a few days. My thanks go out to everyone who reviewed and to everyone that's paying attention to this story.^_^

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**Chapter Four: Another Late Night **

For one hysterical moment, Lucas honestly believed he was disappearing, that his body and the molecules that composed it were vanishing. But then he came fully awake and remembered that the sensation of nothingness below his loins was due to his atrophied legs, courtesy of a piece of plate-glass window. He had also been under the illusion that he'd been lying on a jagged rock but he knew there was no pernicious piece of sediment beneath him and that it was just his back cramping.

Slowly, Lucas drew himself into a sitting position, gasping as a tiny charge of pain shot through his nerves. In the three weeks since his accident, the pain in his back had mostly faded, but it still frequently tightened up and cramped, and sometimes it would protest angrily when he exerted himself a certain way. Dr. Capshaw had warned him that even if his legs recovered he would probably have back problems for the rest of his days. Lucas could live with that. It was infinitely preferable to never walking again.

In the darkened gloom, penetrated only by the residual glow of the streetlamps outside and the light pollution in the atmosphere that seeped through the closed blinds of the windows, Lucas examined his useless limbs. Nothing. He still couldn't feel any part of his legs or feet, nor could he so much as twitch a muscle. He'd only been doing physical therapy for about two weeks, and Capshaw had said that it might be a couple of months before he saw any progress, but Lucas still vainly hoped that something would happen any day now. Nothing had happened, though, and he was beginning to wonder if anything ever would.

The clock on the nightstand read 2:24 a.m. No way was he getting back to sleep tonight. With considerable effort, Lucas slid himself into the wheelchair that sat right beside the bed. Letting out a soft grunt, he adjusted himself until he was situated and manually lifted his legs up so that his feet resided on the footrests. Hoisting himself in and out of the wheelchair multiple times throughout the day left him feeling exhausted and spent but he was proud of the fact that he could do it without taking a spill now. He was also proud that he had become skilled enough to maneuver the chair without crashing into walls and doorframes.

He rolled himself into the darkened hallway and made his way to the kitchen. Once there, Lucas was greeted only by the soft humming of the refrigerator and a flock of crouching shadows that materialized when he flipped on the sink-light. He was overcome by a sense of déjà-vu. A few weeks ago, the night before the debut of Nathan's shoe, Lucas had found himself unable to sleep and had wandered into the kitchen just like this. Back then, he'd walked in on his own two feet in search of a beer. Now, he had ridden in on wheels with the intention of making coffee. He no longer kept alcohol in the house. Lucas didn't dare get drunk and risk a fall that could injure him further, but he didn't trust himself not to partake of any booze that might be within his reach, either, so he figured it best to keep his house free of anything that might diminish his faculties.

Drinking coffee at two-thirty in the morning probably wasn't healthy either, but Lucas had developed a dependency on the stuff in a way he never had before. Besides, his chances of finding anymore rest this night were pretty much nil. Hell, most nights, he was lucky to get even four or five hours of sleep. So he needed coffee to keep him functional enough to manage things around the house and work.

Yes, Lucas still worked. Earl had been more than understanding about his accident and had given him a job at the front desk of the shop. It was tedious and Lucas felt like he was getting paid to do little to nothing, but Earl had assured him that when (or more accurately, if) Lucas was walking again, his old job in the service bays would be waiting for him. Lucas was just glad to be working at all. It meant he could support himself without the need for handouts from others. In fact, he was furiously resistant to any sort of help, even with mundane tasks. He did all his own shopping, though he had to buy things in small increments as there were only so many racks on the back of his chair from which he could hang bags. Lucas also cleaned the house top to bottom by himself, without help.

Having to do these things while confined to a wheelchair, as only half the man he'd used to be, was considerably difficult. It drained him physically and caused him no shortage of frustration, but Lucas did them nevertheless, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

It was too bad that in the process of establishing his independence he had pushed away just about all his friends and family. Of course, Lucas had become such a pro at shutting out the people he cared about even semi-paralysis couldn't deter that particular bad habit. This had been his first week riding solo, though they all called frequently. Skillz, who was back in town after graduating college, stopped by every other day and drove Lucas to his rehab sessions in Wilmington.

Otherwise, Lucas had successfully driven everyone else off. He'd been a nightmare to deal with, he fully admitted that. But it was his mother that had probably ended up hurt the most.

His mother had been inconsolable after she'd arrived at the hospital, almost as distraught as she had been when Keith had been killed. Henceforth, she had practically attached herself to Lucas's side twenty-four-seven and it came to a point where he wasn't able to get a second to himself. Nathan and Haley had also hovered around him constantly, Nathan out of guilt for his role in Lucas's predicament and Haley because her maternal instincts had gone into overdrive, and because she too seemed racked with remorse over her husband's actions.

Lucas understood that it was all out of love and concern, but a guy can only take so much, and eventually he snapped. His mother had been talking about buying a house and settling back in Tree Hill with Andy and Lily, but Lucas had firmly insisted she set sail and get back to her new life. When that didn't work, he insisted harshly, harsher then he had any right to be. It got the job done, and a few days later, his mother departed. She'd been crushed, Lucas could tell, and he loathed himself so intensely for it that he sometimes felt like tossing darts at his own reflection in mirrors. He had only succeeded in widening the gap between them, the one he'd created when he'd gotten expelled from Gilmore and chosen a life as a small town mechanic.

He gave Nathan and Haley the same treatment. Nathan had been passed up for the Seattle draft, but he'd been offered a position on a developmental B-League team, the Charleston Chiefs, that could possibly serve as a stepping stone to the NBA. Since it would be better for Haley and Jamie to have Nathan close by, and since Lucas knew they'd already put money down on a house in Charleston, he had told them to get on with their lives and go.

They had resisted, of course, but Lucas had pretty much kicked them out of his house. He'd been a real dick. A selfish, ungrateful dick, and he was probably going to Hell, but none of them understood that Lucas needed to do this on his own. If he was destined for a life without the use of his legs, he needed to prove to himself that he could live independently and self-sufficiently, and he couldn't do that with everyone buzzing around him.

A lot of damage had still been done, though. Phone conversations with his mother and his brother and Haley tended to be tense and stilted. They always asked how he was and if he needed anything, but that was it. He'd really fucked things up, but maybe it was for the better. Lucas was loath to be an obstacle that kept them from their dreams and interests and he felt as though he'd been dragging everyone down with his issues, even before the accident.

He was all messed up right now, and there was nothing to be gained from allowing others to be sucked into the black hole that was his life. At least, that's what he told himself.

With a mug of coffee nestled in his lap, Lucas left the kitchen, leaving the sole light above the sink on, and wheeled down the shrouded corridor toward the living room. Night after night of insomnia had honed Lucas's vision to function well in the dark so he didn't worry about colliding with anything. Besides, there were no obstacles waiting for him as Lucas always made sure there was a clear path from the front door to the kitchen.

Usually, on nights like this, he would turn the television on, set it to some old movie station, and lie down on the couch and allow the images on the screen to numb his thoughts. The old Lucas could've easily lost himself in one of the myriad of classic novels and works of literature he had on hand. But that was the old Lucas, who had been MIA for awhile now. The new Lucas no longer had the patience for that, and since his newfound physical infirmity left him unable to find solace on the Rivercourt, the TV was usually his only choice.

However, Lucas found he wasn't in the mood for even this mindless form of entertainment tonight, so he returned to his bedroom. He switched on his desk lamp, bathing the walls and ceiling with an eerie dull glow. His dresser called to him. He ignored it.

It didn't actually speak to him literally, but Lucas found himself inexorably drawn to the topmost drawer and its contents. He generally only looked at it once a day, right before he went to bed. He had to limit himself to once daily lest he become obsessive like had been in the beginning. The beginning of his life post-Peyton.

The drawer held photos of Peyton and the two of them together, as well as mixes she had made him and the letters he'd written to her but never sent that had occupied his old Peyton box. There was also a necklace her mom had owned that she'd given to him and the ring box that held Keith's ring. Finally, there was the only remaining copy of his manuscript.

Each night, he would open the drawer and pour over the things in it while he ruminated on what he'd lost and what could've been. Some might call him masochistic, but Lucas thought of it as regulating his brooding, just like some people regulated their bowels. He reserved those fifteen minutes of the day for his time of catharsis when he vented all the angst and grief in his heart so that come morning he was ready to go about his day without those things bogging him down. Most of the time, it worked.

Or maybe it didn't work at all and it was just easier to pretend it did.

Whatever the case, Lucas always limited himself to just one viewing per twenty-four hour period. Only now, he found himself rolling over towards the dresser and reaching for the handle of the drawer even though he'd already looked in it a few hours ago before his failed attempt at sleep. Unable to stop himself, he slid the drawer open and removed the manuscript.

Studying the packet of papers in his hands, Lucas stared at the big red 'REJECTED' stamp on the cover. This certainly wasn't the first manuscript he'd gotten back with a rejection notice, but this particular copy was different for two reasons. One was that all of the other copies he'd gotten back in the mail had come with letters of rejection written in a cordial, apologetic and somewhat patronizing manner, while this one had been outright branded, almost angrily, as a reject without any such niceties.

And two was that this copy had been accepted before it had been rejected.

Three years ago, he'd been standing in the LAX terminal, in shambles after his failed proposal and just wanting to go home to North Carolina when he'd gotten a call on his cell phone. Thinking that it might have been Peyton, Lucas had been disappointed and downright livid when it had instead turned out to be some unknown number and he had ignored the call. Later, back at the apartment he had shared with Nathan and Haley, he had checked his voicemail and discovered the call had come from a New York publishing house and that the woman calling had wanted to tell him that they'd decided to publish "An Unkindness of Ravens." Only hours after watching his greatest dream evaporate in front of his eyes, he had found out his second greatest dream was on the verge of being realized.

But by that point, an intense apathy had festered within him and Lucas had found himself unable to care anything about anything. Instead of being ecstatic, he'd felt flustered at how inconvenient it would be to have to go all the way up to New York and paste on a happy face for his potential editor. Instead of being grateful for his turn of luck, he'd been petulant. He never called the woman back and proceeded to ignore all her attempts to contact him for the next three weeks. Eventually, the calls stopped coming and the return of this manuscript with the furious red notice on it had marked the end of any chance he had of becoming a published author.

Undoubtedly, it had been the single most insipidly immature thing he'd ever done in his life. He'd never told anyone about it for he knew how they'd react.

Nevertheless, Lucas actually was somewhat at peace with his decision. Not that he didn't feel guilty every now and then, but in the long run, he couldn't help but think it would've been awkward to give the public access to an intimate account of his life. When he'd written "An Unkindness of Ravens" back in high school, he'd never really thought of having it published. He'd written it so that in the future he'd have something to help him remember things, and to try and make sense of those two final years of high school, which had been two of the most pivotal years of his life.

Peyton had made a bunch of copies of his original manuscript without him knowing and sent them out to various publishers, not unlike how he had submitted her artwork to THUD magazine without her knowing. Lucas remembered falling in love with her all over again after she'd told him that.

His hands shook slightly as he held the manuscript and Lucas suddenly felt a deep disdain for it. If anything, it was a meticulous record of all his screw-ups and bad decisions. All the opportunities he threw away; all the times he'd hurt the people he loved inadvertently; a former friend who almost killed the girl he loved then killed himself; an uncle who was like a father, robbed from him and his mother and his daughter's life; and the father that did the robbing. It was all there in black and white, and Lucas could barely stand to look at it anymore.

Savagely, he tore the cover off the manuscript and then proceeded to brutalize the pages that lie underneath. For the next couple of minutes, the only sounds that could be heard were the shrill tearing of parchment and the throaty exhalations of the one doing the tearing. Lucas completely destroyed the document, showering the floor with feathery scraps of mangled manuscript. He didn't even notice when he spilled his coffee over himself and the remains on the floor so focused was he on his act of annihilation. When it was done and there was nothing left for his hands to rip and shred, Lucas surveyed the ruins, now soaked with java.

That was it, there were no more copies left. Except for the incomplete one his mother had had bound for him and given to him as a gift, but he'd given it to Peyton to keep before she'd left for California. Other than that, they were all gone.

Drained, Lucas gazed at the open drawer one last time. He stared hard at the inky black of the ring box and the faint images presented by the many photos of Peyton. He slammed the drawer shut with a loud thud and promptly left his bedroom. He'd clean up the mess in the morning.

He would never dwell on that particular what-could've-been again. From this point forward, he was going to pour every spare ounce of his energies into reviving his legs and walking again. He had to, otherwise he would truly lose his sanity if he had to be cooped up in here for much longer.

Lucas also vowed to stay away from that damn drawer for good. Peyton was gone and it was time he accepted that.

If only it were that simple.

**~Chapter Four End**


	5. Another Late Night 2

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter took so long. Unlike the previous ones, it wasn't pre-written, and any author knows how fickle the old muse can be.

bendecida - Okay, don't hate me, but I'm afraid that this is yet another transition chapter. I felt it was necessary to give the audience a look at Peyton's life, so I'm sorry, but not much happens in this chapter, either. Having waited nearly a week for this update, I realize that's inexcusable. Promise not to castrate me?^_^ Don't worry, though. The story really picks up in the next chapter.

And no, it's not bad that you like how far Lucas has sunk. Lucas is my favorite character, but I like it when he's tortured, so I wanted to write him that way. Anyway, I love your reviews and always look forward to them.;)

Let me say again that I appreciate everyone that's following this story. I promise I'll get the next chapter up as quickly as I can.

* * *

**Chapter Five: Another Late Night 2**

Even at 2:30 in the morning, the streets of Los Angeles were still highly active. The City of Angels had a thriving night life and most of the club-hoppers, barflies, and late partiers didn't get started until at least midnight. After four years of walking these streets, Peyton had gotten good at weaving through the mass of pedestrians on the sidewalks, but currently she was so exhausted she just wished everybody would disappear so she could get back to her place without having to zigzag through a maze of humanity.

She had just gotten off work and she had only about four and a half hours before she had to be back at work again, which left her with about a half hour to shower, another half hour to eat, and three hours of potential shut-eye. Just another day as the assistant-to-the-assistant of the label president.

Peyton's feet ached and her calves throbbed. Her hair was frizzy, her clothes were rumpled, and she felt grimy all over, and not just from laboring all day in a stuffy office, but also from catering to the every whim of slimy record execs, arrogant, oversexed musicians, and spoiled and vapid pop stars. Today, Peyton had been forced into five hours of unpaid overtime in order to babysit a recently signed pop singer named Brett Bass. He was the son of a rather famous movie star and had the looks and attitude to match. Personally, Peyton didn't think he could hold a tune to save his life, but his bad boy persona had made him tabloid gold and therefore her bosses had wanted him for the publicity he attracted.

Peyton found him to be repulsive. He was an amalgamation of every negative stereotype attributed to the typical Hollywood alumnus. He was vain, pompous, entitled, and he threw infantile tantrums over every little thing that didn't go his way. Brett Bass had a terrible temper, and after he'd blown up the phones and sidekicks of every one of the top brass at Sire Records whining about the so-called "dumbasses" down at the studio, Peyton had been given the dubious honor of being the one to go down and pacify him. So for half the night, she'd had to stand and bite her tongue as the putrid pig had hurled filth-ridden abuse at her and the studio technicians. He threw coffee, he smashed headphone sets, he kicked chairs across the room; he even spat on the floor. He also screamed his head off, constantly. He shouted down and over anyone that tried to reason with him; he puffed out his chest, acted macho and repeatedly cited his pedigree, claiming he would snuff out the careers of anyone that displeased him. Brett seemed to like portraying himself as some faux tough guy, for he went as far as to threaten to beat up the DJ in the parking lot when the man had had the audacity to call Brett on his attitude.

All this because someone had dared to provide him with Poland Springs water instead of Dasani. Brett Bass had ranted for over twenty minutes about anything and everything, simply because he hadn't gotten the brand of bottled water he'd wanted.

It got better, though. Her boss, the assistant to the label president, had charged Peyton with overseeing all of Brett's future recording sessions. Meaning that at 7:00 a.m. sharp tomorrow morning, she would be back in that studio waiting on the syphilitic swine hand and foot, and she had several months' worth of sessions to look forward to with the jerk. She wanted to kill herself.

She was thoroughly relieved when she finally reached her apartment complex, but also depressed knowing she had only a few hours to herself before she had to descend into the hell that was her job once again. Stepping through the door of her apartment, Peyton kicked off her heals and shrugged off her coat. She hardly needed a coat during summer in LA, but it matched her business-like attire. It was tan like the flattering plaid skirt she wore and it went well with the white-cotton button-down she had on.

Since being promoted out of the mail room, Peyton had thought it best to start dressing up. After all, weathered band t-shirts and tattered jeans hardly screamed success so she figured a more sophisticated wardrobe would make her colleagues take her more seriously.

Hah.

Peyton was the office punch line. She currently occupied a position that didn't technically exist and had no real place in the label hierarchy, so even the interns laughed in her face. Her peers and her superiors derogatorily referred to her as 'Pollyanna' because she dreamed of discovering artists and bands whose music touched people's hearts and souls; music that could change people's lives and the world, just like the artists and bands she'd grown up listening to.

Her views earned Peyton nothing but scorn and derision from the mass of nihilists and cynics that surrounded her at work. Most, if not all, of them didn't believe in anything because in today's society it was fashionable not to. They worshipped the almighty dollar and they craved power and prestige within the label, so they chased after music that would be played in the most prominent clubs, or featured in the next big blockbuster or on trashy TV shows like Gossip Girl. Brainless, soulless music made and performed by artists who were interested in nothing more than driving expensive cars, getting drunk on fine alcohol, and getting laid.

Peyton busted her butt off the clock for hours, pounding the pavement in search of bands that were truly talented and produced genuinely good music, and yet her demo tapes usually ended up in the recycling bin or were used in games of catch during lunch hour in the office. John Knight, the label president, constantly told her that if she could learn to accept the business side of the music industry she would be much further up the chain than she was now, but that would mean sacrificing the last shred of integrity she had left and there was no way she was going to do that.

After all, the very fact that she let obnoxious scum like Brett Bass walk all over her proved that she had already sacrificed a great deal of who she was to keep her job. The old Peyton would never have allowed herself to be treated the way Brett had treated her. She would've promptly told him where to go and how to get there, and she certainly wouldn't have put up with the taunts and jeers her colleagues heaped on her daily. The old Peyton would've just flipped them all the bird and went about her business not caring what they thought. But Peyton hadn't been that girl in a long time.

Any attempt to stand up for herself against the likes of Brett Bass or her superiors at the label wouldn't be answered with respect, but instead a swift firing and a guarantee that she, who had no college degree, would never work in the music industry again. Peyton still stubbornly clung to the hope that with enough time and effort she could truly make a difference but each day that hope seemed to fade gradually.

After an abrupt and unsatisfying shower, Peyton dried herself off and threw on a black Angels & Airwaves t-shirt and a pair of checkered cotton shorts. She padded into her small kitchen barefoot and proceeded to make a sandwich. She didn't have time to eat anything else, and in fact, due to her hectic schedule, she hadn't eaten a home-cooked meal in ages. Peyton had never been particularly skilled in the kitchen, and the only guy she'd dated out here in LA, who had lived with her for a brief time, hadn't been much better. So her palate had consisted of takeout, restaurant food, and frozen dinners for so long she could barely remember what it was like to eat anything else.

Sandwich complete, she carried it on a plate along with a glass of ice tea to her beat up couch where she sat and wolfed down her meal so quickly she didn't even bother to switch on the small TV set opposite the couch to provide her with background noise. She hadn't eaten a thing all day.

Peyton drained the last of her ice tea and promptly deposited her glass in the sink and tossed her paper plate in the garbage. After turning out the lights and checking to make sure the security chain and deadbolt on the front door were secure, she retired to her bedroom. She knew she needed to make the most of the next four hours of sleep, but before turning in, Peyton first had to carry out her nightly ritual.

She reached underneath her pillow and withdrew a small book. It had a black-leather cover and printed on the front in gold script were the title and author of the book:

**An Unkindness of Ravens**

_**by**_

_**Lucas Scott**_

It wasn't an officially published copy, but instead an incomplete manuscript that had been bound. He had given it to her at the airport the day she'd left Tree Hill four years ago. His mother had given it to him as a gift and Peyton had insisted she couldn't possibly accept it, but he had just looked deeply into her eyes with his magnificently blue orbs, smiled a smile that had melted her on the inside, and told her that he believed in her and that whenever she failed to believe in herself she could just look at the passage he had marked for her.

'_Peyton Sawyer is going to change the world someday, because Peyton Sawyer has something called integrity.'_

Sitting there on the edge of her bed, gaze caressing that one sentence, Peyton felt a hint of tears sting her eyes, though she prevented them from falling. She'd cried so many tears for Lucas Scott already; she didn't think she could handle any more. His words were beautiful and awe-inspiring, but also so painful to read now, after he had left her. He had asked her to marry him, and she'd said she wasn't ready. She'd said 'someday,' but he'd taken it as no. They had fought; hard. Peyton had told him to leave, and he'd left, and never returned. She'd spent that entire day in the hotel room, falling apart, hoping he would walk back through that door or at least call her. But he never did.

'_Then again, you never called him, either. You never went after him_,' a voice taunted deep from within her.

Peyton closed the book abruptly and just stared at the cover. If Lucas really had been the love of her life then why hadn't she tried to stop him from leaving? Why hadn't she fought for him? Then again, if Lucas had loved her as much as he'd said, why hadn't _he_ fought for her? Peyton had spent so many countless hours agonizing over what had gone wrong. What had possessed Lucas to show up out of the blue and propose like that? Peyton constantly had flashbacks to that damned hotel room, to the broken and lost look in his eyes when she'd told him to leave. And she knew, deep down, that allowing him to walk out that door had been the biggest mistake of her life.

In the three years since it had happened, Peyton hadn't been able to let Lucas go. Even when fate had dropped a perfectly wonderful guy into her lap, it hadn't been enough.

Julian Baker had been an aspiring indie film producer when Peyton met him. He was currently a pretty successful producer the last Peyton had heard of him, but two years ago he'd barely had five dollars to his name. He was tall and lanky, incredibly hansom with short, close-cropped brown hair and a quirky half-grin. He was a certified charmer. Julian had really known how to sweep a girl off her feet, and Peyton had not been immune. Somehow, with his sarcastic sense of humor and infectious wit, he had managed to sooth her stricken heart and dull the pangs of loneliness. For the most part.

She eventually came to love him, at least a little bit. In order to save finances on both their parts, Julian had moved in with Peyton not long after they'd begun to date. For awhile they lived a charmed life; going to film festivals, catching late night flicks, just doing couple-y things. She even met his parents, and got to know them to a certain extent. It hadn't mattered that Julian didn't get the type of music she listened to, or that he couldn't take one look at her and automatically know what was on her mind. It hadn't mattered that they couldn't just sit in comfortable silence for hours at a time without even a hint of awkwardness, or that he couldn't convey an ocean of feelings with just one glance.

It had mattered, however, that she'd still carried Lucas's book around with her everywhere even while she'd dated Julian. When Julian had first noticed it, he'd actually thought it was a Bible. When he'd found out it was actually an unfinished novel written by her ex-boyfriend, he'd been less than pleased and it had lead to their first major fight. Peyton couldn't even remember what she'd said or done to diffuse the quarrel, but somehow she had convinced him it was nothing and promised to get rid of the book. She hadn't, of course.

Only a month later, as they'd been packing for their trip to the Sundance Film Festival, Julian had found the book again. Worse, a picture of Lucas that had been wedged between two pages had fallen out for him to see. The proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.

Julian threw a fit. He accused her of still being in love with Lucas and told her he refused to live in her ex-boyfriend's shadow. Then he left for Sundance; alone. A few days later, while she'd been at work, he had collected all his belongings from her apartment and left a check for his share of the rent before disappearing from her life for good.

Peyton had loved him, no doubt about it, but she hadn't once tried to go after him nor had she shed a single tear, because she knew his accusations had been dead on. If she'd been sad about anything, it was that she'd been alone again.

Peyton slowly, almost tenderly, placed the book back underneath her pillow. Lying down, she stared at the faded and chipped paint of her ceiling, her mind mulling over the boy that got away. She hadn't seen him in three years. What was he doing? Was he okay? Was he happy? Had all his dreams come true, or had he fallen flat on his face like her? Not a day went by where Peyton didn't wonder about his life. She never talked to Haley or Nathan or any of her old friends anymore. Brooke was the only one she kept in constant contact with, and even then, it was rarely more than twice a week.

When had her life become this? Peyton had never felt more alone. She missed her old friends. She missed the girl she used to be and the woman she wanted to be.

Mostly, she just missed Lucas.

**~Chapter Five End**


	6. The Missing Pieces

**A/N:** I don't really have any credible excuses for taking so long to update. Last week really sucked and pretty everything was pissing me off, and when I'm pissed off, I can't really write. Plus, I'm just incredibly lazy. Overall, this chapter was just hard to write for some reason, but thankfully I'm finally done.

bendecida - The answer to your question is in chapter four; maybe you just glossed over it by accident.

lizzy1234 - I can't really control how long each chapter will be. It all depends on how things unfold as I'm writing. You'll be happy to know that this chapter is longer than most of my others.

LPfan4ever - Heh, sorry. But I really want to take my time with this fic, so you might have to bare a little bit more suspense.;)

As always, I appreciate everyone who bothers with this story. I'll try and be quicker with updates.^_^

* * *

**Chapter Six: The Missing Pieces**

From the passenger seat of Skillz's Ford Explorer, Lucas allowed himself to be slightly hypnotized by the scenery as it rushed past him. It was a vain attempt to quell his growing despondency and a way to try and dissuade conversation with his childhood friend. That may have been disingenuous seeing as how Skillz took time out of his day to shuttle Lucas to and from his rehab sessions, but he was fed up with reciting the same replies to the same questions over and over again. Yes, he was okay; yes, his therapy went fine; no, he didn't want to talk about it.

The first two were outright lies, but Lucas was adamant about the third. The truth was, his rehabilitation was proceeding at a glacial pace and today's session was particularly bad. He had lost his grip on the support bars four times and tired much sooner than he usually did. From the start, nothing had gone right and Lucas felt as though he had been punted ten yards backward in his recovery. Then again, measuring his recovery in ten yards was far too generous.

It had been three months since the bar brawl that had left him with a glass-addled spine and in that time he had gained only the tiniest bit of feeling back in his legs. He could wiggle most of his toes, twitch his feet slightly, and could even manage to stand in place without aid for a whole three measly seconds. Dr. Capshaw and the nurse that aided him during his rehab were optimistic and saw it as 'amazing' progress and a 'wonderful' triumph.

Lucas saw it as a sign that he was never meant to walk again. He worked at his therapy very hard and did plenty of his own at home, but if all he could manage in three whole months was to undulate his digits then that meant his best attempts simply weren't good enough. Over ninety days of grueling, excruciating labor, and his legs were still nothing more than linguini with a little bit of spunk. Not good; not good at all.

Either Lucas was screwing up and not doing things correctly, or the damage to his spine was such that the most he'd ever be able to do was scrunch his toes. He had adjusted to life in a wheelchair well enough but the thought of being in one until he was old and withered left him cold on the inside. What he wouldn't give to feel his feet command the ground again. To bound across the char-gray pavement of the Rivercourt and sink a free-throw. To shift in bed without having to manually readjust his legs. Such simple pleasures Lucas had taken for granted his whole life, and now they were probably gone forever.

"Yo', you still alive over there, dawg?"

Somewhat startled, though not visibly so, by Skillz's sudden query, Lucas didn't break his gaze from the window.

"Define alive," he replied sardonically.

"Well, if you talkin', I guess that means you still breathin', so that's something," Skillz said.

"Yeah, something," was all Lucas said.

"C'mon man, it couldn't have been that bad. Look, in another three months you'll be up walkin' again and tearin' up the Rivercourt like it ain't nothin'."

Lucas just shook his head. "I don't think so, Skillz. I'll be lucky if I can even lurch two steps."

Skillz sighed in resignation. "Whatever you say, man."

He'd sunk pretty low if even Skillz couldn't cheer him up. Skillz had never tried to lecture Lucas about how he was handling things; he'd always taken everything in stride which Lucas had appreciated. But it looked like even he was having trouble biting his tongue now. If Lucas wasn't careful, he might end up having to find another ride to his therapy sessions.

"Look, I'm trying here, Skillz, but it's not easy," he forced out.

"I know you tryin', Luke, and that's all good," Skillz responded. "But you can 'try' till you blue in the face and it ain't gonna' make up for havin' a crappy attitude."

Lucas said nothing at first. The look in his friend's eyes and the tone of his voice suggested that he wasn't only referring to his attitude towards his recovery.

After a minute, Lucas mumbled, "Noted."

It was Skillz who said nothing this time; he merely concentrated on the road in front of him as he drove.

With the sun almost set, twilight was swiftly departing leaving a sheen of mercurial light dripping in its wake. They were on Main Street now, and as Lucas watched the storefronts pass by and the pedestrians matriculate on the sidewalks, he felt a withering pang of nostalgia. Even more so when he caught sight of the building that had once been Karen's Café. The plate glass windows were covered from the inside by a tarp, and the closed sign hung perpetually on the door. The Karen's Café logo, faded but just barely visible, still decorated the glass as though the ghost of the former establishment lingered within the premises.

Lucas had practically grown up in his mother's café. He'd spent as much time in that coffee shop as he had at the Rivercourt and in his own home. He'd celebrated the Ravens' victory in the State Championship there. It was in one of the back rooms of the café that he and Peyton had shared their first kiss as an official couple. The girls had thrown his mother a baby shower there when she'd been pregnant with Lily. There were so many memories tied to that place that Lucas found it difficult to accept it was gone sometimes.

Having worked seven days a week for over ten years, his mother had deserved a rest and freedom from the responsibilities of running a thriving business, and Andy had been able to provide that for her. Lucas didn't begrudge her for packing up and leaving town with her boyfriend, especially since everyone knew her as the former fiancée of the ex-mayor's brother, whom said mayor had murdered in cold blood in the midst of the only school shooting to ever afflict Tree Hill. Four years later and people were still talking about it. Lucas didn't blame her one bit for wanting to leave.

Still, there was some twisted and selfish part of him buried deep within the catacombs of his id that slightly resented his mother for depriving him of that piece of his childhood and for ensuring that his baby sister was a virtual stranger to him. Lucas knew that it was wrong and didn't make any sense, but it was there nevertheless.

It was misplaced, he knew that. If he resented anyone, it was himself for his thoughtless actions three months ago. Lucas had treated his own mother like an interloper when all she'd been trying to do was comfort him. He had frightened her away with his self-pitying anger and hurt her heart with his razor-edged words. He wouldn't blame her if she never came back and kept his little sister away from him for the rest of her life. Lily certainly deserved a big brother that wasn't an all around failure at life.

Skillz turned the Explorer onto Burnett Drive and within a few seconds they pulled up in front of Lucas's house. After shifting into park, Skillz exited the vehicle and circled around to the rear passenger door. He opened it and removed Lucas's wheelchair from the back seat just as Lucas opened his door. Skillz then unfolded the chair, brought it over near Lucas, positioned it so that it faced the passenger side door, and locked the wheels. This was to prevent the chair from rolling backwards as Lucas shifted his weight onto it.

Lucas swiveled himself toward the driver's seat and, with his hands secured tightly on the passenger's seat headrest and the passenger side doorframe, he slowly and carefully slid himself backwards toward the awaiting chair. Skillz stood by patiently and quietly, knowing from experience that Lucas didn't like to be helped when he did this. After fifteen long, torturous seconds, Lucas had successfully transferred himself from the car seat into his wheelchair. Winded, his arms and shoulders throbbing, he secured his feet on the footrests and unlocked the wheels. Closing the car door, Lucas turned himself around towards Skillz.

"Thanks man. I may not be good company, but I do appreciate this," he said.

Skillz shook his head and bumped fists with Lucas. "Nah, it ain't nothin', man. You my boy. You'd do the same for me if I ever got laid out by some disgruntled Sonics fan."

Lucas couldn't help but chuckle. Unlike everyone else, Skillz didn't treat him like a piece of fragile China. It was refreshing to have someone who saw him as more than an invalid joke around with him like that.

"See you next time," Lucas said as he started toward his house.

"Luke." Skillz's voice stopped him and he turned back toward his friend. "Don't give up, man. It's a bad habit to pick up."

Lucas nodded and watched as his childhood friend headed back toward the Explorer. Lucas turned back around and wheeled across his front yard and through the side yard, making his way to the kitchen door. It was the only door he could use since the front door and the one in his bedroom could only be accessed via the porch which had steps. Andy had offered to pay to have wheelchair-friendly ramps installed on the porch, but Lucas had vetoed the idea out of sheer stubbornness. The only thing he had agreed to were the safety bars on the bathtub and near the toilet. There was no getting around the fact that he needed those. On the bright side, any dirt or grime he tracked in from the rims of his wheels was easier to clean off kitchen tile than it was carpet.

Entering the kitchen, Lucas flipped on the sink light and then proceeded to turn on a couple of lamps in the living room, bringing light to the formerly gloomy house. The sun was practically gone and the sky was slowly crystallizing into night. Lucas wanted to bathe but first, he needed to retrieve a fresh can of coffee so he could have a new batch ready afterwards. Unfortunately, it was in one of the highest cabinets in the kitchen. Skillz may have accidentally put it there the last time he'd been over. Lucas had been dreading the task all day, but it had to be done. He didn't particularly feel like going down to the store to buy a new one at this hour.

He returned to the kitchen and positioned himself directly beneath the cabinet, leaving a tiny bit of space in between his chair and the counter. He would need to stand to reach the cabinet and he was confident he could manage the two and a half seconds required to open the cabinet door, grab the coffee can, and place it down on the counter. Lucas could generally suspend himself on his useless legs for a maximum of about three seconds before he lost his balance, but in this case, he would just get the can, drop it on the counter, and fall back into his chair. Simple.

With a deep breath, Lucas removed his feet from the footrests of the wheelchair and brought them to rest on the kitchen tile. Then, he slowly lifted himself upwards, transferring his hands from the chair's handles to the counter quickly in order to support himself. His atrophied legs shivered but held fast as he came not quite to his full height. Hastily, he opened the cabinet door, took hold of the coffee can and dropped it onto the counter. Letting the cabinet door close on its own, Lucas felt himself teetering backwards, his overworked muscles past their limit, and he quickly reached backward to grab the arms of his wheelchair.

Unfortunately, he'd forgotten to lock the wheels.

When Lucas's hands connected with the chair's arms, it rolled back and Lucas fell. Hard. He landed on his right side and choked back a yell as shockwaves rippled through his back. His right shoulder also flared up in sudden pain having been strained in an unnatural direction. His eyes burned with tears he refused to let escape and a cacophony of profanity exploded from his lips.

Honestly, he had made a sport out of being a complete idiot. How could he have not locked the goddamned wheels? Burning in humiliation, Lucas continued to lay there on the hard tile for several minutes, praying he had not done any further damage to his spine. A perfectly shitty ending to a perfectly shitty day. What else could go wrong?

The phone rang.

* * *

Nathan quietly closed the door behind him as he stepped into the foyer of the house he and Haley were currently renting in Charleston. Personally, he liked their home in Tree Hill much better, but he also liked having his family close by so he didn't have to commute back and forth and be away from them for days at a time.

Tossing his duffel bag down near the stairs, he went in search of his wife and son. Haley's voice alerted him to her presence in the kitchen and when he found her, she was on the phone, animatedly talking to someone. Nathan stopped for a minute to just look at his wife. He felt his heart flutter and it amazed him that after six years of marriage she could still have that effect on him. Dressed in only a checkered button down with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and a pair of tan shorts, she was every bit as enchanting to him as she had been on both of their wedding days.

Nathan was damned lucky he still had her after 'The Accident,' as they had come to refer to it. It was a day that was supposed to be one of celebration; the debut of his own shoe line. It was a day he wished for all the world he could take back. He had let his temper get the best of him, again, and this time his brother had paid the price.

Nathan had slept in the guest room for weeks after and it was only through a tremendous amount of apologizing, several heart-to-heart talks, and a promise that he would never do anything like that again that he had gotten things back on track with Haley. She'd had every right to be mad at him and sometimes it amazed him that she even put up with him at all. Karen still wouldn't speak to him and he was fairly certain Lucas hated him.

He may have saved his marriage, but Nathan still carried that day around with him 24/7. Countless times he would wake up in the middle of the night, cold perspiration making him shiver slightly, the memories of his brother lying in the street in a sea of glass shards haunting him. The rivulets of blood that had flowed from underneath Lucas and the sight of the angry blade of glass protruding from his back was something he would never forget for as long as he lived.

Haley may have forgiven him, but he doubted he would ever forgive himself, and he didn't think Lucas would, either.

Nathan had been thrilled at the opportunity to play for the Charleston Chiefs, a minor league team known for sending players to the NBA. Seattle had passed him up and though in their official statement they'd said that it was because he wasn't what they were looking for, Nathan had always suspected it had been due to the controversy stirred up by The Accident. Playing for the Chiefs was his chance to make people forget about his past mistakes and focus on his worth as a player, but Nathan couldn't help feeling a stab of guilt each time he was out on the court working toward his dream while his brother was suffered because of him.

But it had been Lucas's wish for him to go and play for the Chiefs. Lucas had pushed them all away, even his mother, declaring that he wanted to do everything on his own. All Nathan wanted to do was make his brother happy so he had abided by his wishes, but he questioned whether or not that had been the right thing to do all the time.

Aside from Karen, Haley had taken Lucas's rejection of all help and support the hardest. It killed her that her best friend wouldn't let her be there for him and Nathan could see the pain in his wife's eyes all the time. Under any other circumstances, Nathan would've killed Lucas or anyone else for putting that pain there, but in the end, everything boiled down to Nathan's own selfish actions. He couldn't blame his brother for his reticence because if roles were reversed, he would probably be the same way.

Haley's voice suddenly brought him out of his inner world.

"Wait, you're there _now_?" she almost shouted into the phone. "No, no! I'm just surprised, that's all."

Nathan wondered what had provoked his wife to raise her voice. He couldn't tell who was on the other end of the line, and when he mouthed that question to her, she ignored him.

Haley's eyes suddenly went wide. "Oh," she whispered, a bewildered tone in her voice. "So you're meeting her there? Alright Brooke, I have to go. I'll call you later."

"That was Brooke?" Nathan asked as Haley put the phone down.

Haley nodded, eyes wide and alarmed. "Yeah. Her plane just landed in Tree Hill."

"Seriously? Why now, all of the sudden?"

Haley shook her head. "I don't know, I didn't get a chance to ask."

"Well, why do you look like you just saw a ghost?" Nathan asked, concerned.

"Because you'll never guess who else is there," Haley replied.

For a second, Nathan was baffled, but then comprehension rocked him and he suddenly understood his wife's distress. They both remembered the promise they'd made to Lucas back when he'd still been in the hospital.

"You need to call Lucas; now," Nathan told her urgently.

"Way ahead of you," Haley said, already dialing his brother's number.

The shit was about to hit the fan.

* * *

Her expensive heels clicked on the linoleum floor of the New Brunswick airport terminal as she navigated through the crowd of weary travelers and would-be passengers. Sporting a velvet red Clothes Over Bro's halter top, a pair of gray denim shorts, and a Louis Vuitton purse, Brooke Davis set foot in her home town for the first time in four years.

She got looks of recognition from some of the faces in the throng of people, but that was to be expected. Her face had decorated billboards, magazine covers, and talk shows for some time now and she was something of a celebrity. Brooke didn't mind, though, she was just glad to be home.

Back in New York, she'd thought she'd had everything she'd ever wanted: a radically successful, multi-million dollar company; a respected name in the fashion industry; and all of the finest things in life. Somewhere along the way, she'd deluded herself into believing that these material amenities were enough. But then, someone had reminded her that they weren't and that someone was the reason she was here.

The crowd parted and Brooke saw her. She approached, and they embraced.

"Hey P. Sawyer."

"Hey B. Davis."

"We're home."

**~Chapter Six End**


	7. Home

**A/N:** You know, the closer season seven is to premiering, the more bummed I get that Lucas and Peyton won't be in it. But at least they got a happy ending, so that's something. Still, the way they seem to be spamming with all these new characters tells me that the writers know they're going to have big shoes to fill, and I just don't think they're up to the task. Anyway, enough about that.

LPfan4ever - Don't be sorry, I can be the same way sometimes. And don't apologize for writing a long review, I appreciate it. Also, I'm very flattered you think I'm writing Lucas faithfully and that you're so in love with this story. I'll try my best not to let you down, and I hope I can succeed in making it worth the read.

bendecida - Same to you.;) I really love your current story and can't wait for the next chapter.^_^

**Note to the reader:** Sections that are completely in italics are flashbacks.

Anyway, here's chapter seven.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Home**

Her baby purred, still spunky even after years of confinement. When Peyton moved to L.A. she had left the Comet in storage where it had remained all this time. Though it had accumulated much dust, the engine had not failed her and the car still performed faithfully. She liked to think it was her mother's presence still inhabiting the Comet that kept it running so smoothly. Anna Sawyer had treated this car like gold when she'd driven it in her younger days, and even after it had been bequeathed to Peyton, it still seemed to shine with her mother's Midas touch.

Through the streets of her birthplace, she drove; top down, wind blowing in her face, The Foo Fighters playing on the radio, and best friend riding shotgun. Peyton breathed in the familiar and clean air, and couldn't help but tingle with a trace of euphoria. She marveled at being able to look up and see stars that weren't obscured by smog vapors and light pollution, and wondered why she had ever left in the first place. She was home and in that instant, she knew it was where she had always belonged.

"Hard to believe this jalopy can still move," Brooke said from the passenger seat.

"My Comet is _**not**_ a jalopy!" Peyton shot back, incensed. "And wow, big word. Who would've thought the 'Princess of Fashion' was so well-spoken."

Princess of Fashion was a moniker that Brooke had picked up as a result of her rapid rise to the heavens of the fashion world and her domination of so many recent fashion trends.

"Okay, you know I hate that stupid title, but since I'm not in the mood to walk, I won't kick your boney ass," Brooke replied jokingly.

Peyton laughed, and in that moment, it truly hit her just how much she'd missed this. Just being able to laugh and joke with her childhood friend was a luxury that had been denied her for so long, and Peyton now appreciated how precious this time with Brooke really was. Their careers had kept them constantly busy and had stranded them in opposing time zones, leaving them with the opportunity to talk only a couple of times a week, if even that often. Having Brooke here by her side just made Tree Hill feel all the more like home.

All that was missing was him.

Banishing that particular trail of thoughts to the back of her mind, Peyton continued to needle Brooke. "You know, seeing as how you're the CEO of a multi-million dollar corporation, you could've splurged on a limo instead of bumming a ride off me."

"Oh shut-up," Brooke replied good-naturedly. "I just figured the least I could do was bring a little style to this heap with my hot body. If it makes you feel any better, I'll pay for gas."

"Now we're talking."

"Besides," Brooke continued. "If I charged a limo to any of my cards, Victoria would know about it. She checks my bank statements religiously."

"Isn't that kind of illegal?" Peyton asked.

"It's Victoria's world, we all just live in it," Brooke replied sarcastically.

"Well, she probably already knows where you went, unless you hitchhiked here all the way from New York," Peyton said.

"I paid cash for my plane ticket. Unfortunately, it was all the cash I had on me and since the stupid ATM at the airport was out of order, I'm stuck roughing it in this deathtrap," Brooke groused, though the smile on her face revealed she was kidding.

Peyton just grinned back at her, enjoying the banter. "I'm sorry your mom's such a bitch," she offered.

Brooke waved it off. "Whatever. I'll have to deal with her sooner or later, but for now I just want to live in the moment with my best friend."

Peyton smiled warmly at the brunette. "That sounds perfect."

The two were silent for a few minutes as Peyton turned onto Main Street. As she cruised by the familiar shops and storefronts, she felt the pull of dozens of different memories both good and bad. She hoped that any memories she would make in this town from now on would be good.

Brooke sighed contently. "I never realized how much I missed this place until now."

"Me too."

Brooke turned to her. "I'm so glad you called me yesterday night."

"Me too."

_The Previous Night…_

_Tossing her purse down on the couch in her apartment rather aggressively, Peyton shook with frustration and repressed anger. She had ended her obscenely long workday with a dressing down from her boss, over something that wasn't her fault, no less. To make matters worse, her boss hadn't even had the decency to call her into his office to lampoon her. No, he had yelled at her in public in front of all the asshole coworkers who ridiculed her daily, giving them all a fantastic show; something to laugh and joke about with their friends in the club that night._

_Peyton had Brett Bass to thank for it all. He was the immature prick of an artist (if he could be called that) Sire Records had signed a few months ago. He had no talent, he couldn't sing to save his life, and his entire act seemed to consist of nothing more than screaming and snarling into the microphone. But because he was the offspring of Hollywood royalty and a tabloid superstar, the label had deemed him a publicity-magnet and all around attention-getter, and therefore worth the investment; genuine musical ability be damned._

_Peyton had been assigned to oversee his recording sessions, a task that daily drove her to drink. In the three months since Brett had started recording, he had only managed to complete four tracks out of an album that's supposed to have twelve. In spite of the fact that Brett was an arrogant slob who constantly messed up, in spite of his frequent tantrums and histrionics that completely killed any and all productive energy in the room, and in spite of his overall obstinacy and laziness, somehow his lack of progress was Peyton's fault. At least, that's what her boss thought, which he'd made very clear to her._

_Letting out a tortured sigh, Peyton collapsed onto the couch next to her discarded purse. Bending over, she buried her face in her hands, trying to ward her pounding headache away. She was at the end of her rope. She felt as rung out as a used sponge, like someone had squeezed the spirit out of her. When Peyton had first applied for the internship at Sire Records her senior year of high school, she'd never thought things would end up like this. She'd pictured it being an adventure; the onset of a momentous journey in which she would leave her mark on the world and on the hearts of all those lost souls that lived off music the way she did._

_Instead, it had turned out to be a nightmare; a soul-crushing affair that had shattered all her naïve allusions about the music industry and the people that ran it. Peyton had sacrificed her heart for this dream and it was only in this terrible moment that she realized the sacrifice had been in vain. Worse, she realized it was something she never should've sacrificed in the first place; for anything._

_Peyton reached into her purse and extracted the leather-bound copy of Ravens. She opened it to her favorite chapter and scanned the paragraph written about her. Usually, whenever she was feeling depressed or lost or unsure of herself, Peyton could read these words and instantly feel rejuvenated. Now, even this beautiful prose couldn't rescue her from her funk. She felt miserably alone. She desperately needed someone to talk to; anyone._

_Placing the book down, Peyton got up from the couch and grabbed her phone. Opening her window, she perched herself on the windowsill, phone in hand. There were two numbers she could dial. The first one was a number Peyton hadn't dared call in three years, though she'd yearned to all the time. The second was a number she called pretty regularly, but she didn't want to risk disturbing the person at this hour. As much as Peyton wanted to dial the first number, she knew she had no business calling him after all this time and after everything that had happened, even though she would've given anything to hear his voice. So she dialed Brooke instead._

_After a few rings, the brunette picked up. "Hi, it's Peyton," she greeted, her voice wavering a bit._

"_Hi P. Sawyer, I was just thinking about you."_

"_I'm sorry, I know it's late there, I just…" Peyton took a deep breath, trying to summon up the words she desperately needed to say. And then, something gave way inside her and it all came out. Everything she'd been feeling for months seeped out of her in one breath. "What happened to us? You know? I don't know who I am anymore, or how I got here. I miss who I used to be. I want to have a home again, and real friends. The kind of friendships we used to believe in. I miss that, and I miss you. I guess I just miss all of it. Does any of that make any sense?"_

_There was a pause as Peyton felt tears trail down her cheeks. When Brooke finally replied, her voice was solemn and seemed to resonate with the same pain and loneliness Peyton felt._

"_Yeah, it makes all the sense in the world, Peyton." Brooke's voice sounded so close yet so far away. "Four years ago, it all seemed so clear, didn't it? Conquer the world, save the world, live happily ever after."_

"_Are you happy, Brooke?" Peyton asked, genuinely curious._

"_Sometimes. Not always. Are you?"_

_Peyton laugh-cried. "No."_

"_Okay, then let me ask you something," Brooke began. "What is going to make you happy, Peyton? Is it how you look, or the car you drive, or the people you know? Is it money, or celebrity, or power, or accomplishments, because I have all those things, and…" Brooke paused and Peyton could sense the raw emotion coming from her best friend._

"_I don't think it's enough," Brooke finished._

"_Well then, what is?" Peyton asked._

"_Love, I think," was Brooke's reply. "And that love can be for a boy, or a girl, or a place, or for a way of life, or even for a family."_

_Peyton nodded, though she knew Brooke wouldn't see it._

_Brooke continued: "But where you find it is up to you. So where are going to find that love, Peyton?"_

_Peyton knew the answer immediately. "I think I need to go home."_

"_Yeah, I was hoping you'd say that."_

The next day, after that conversation with Brooke, Peyton walked into the offices of Sire Records and quit her job. She cleaned out her tiny, withered desk and never looked back. It was the smartest thing she'd done in four years.

"So where to, P. Sawyer?"

Peyton thought for a minute, and then instantly knew where she wanted to go. "I figured we'd take a little trip down memory lane."

Brooke's chocolate-brown eyes twinkled. "You read my mind."

* * *

Lucas's shoulder pulsed, still sore from the spill he'd taken. It was going to be a lot of fun pushing himself to the shop tomorrow with one arm, because even the slightest attempt to manipulate the right-hand wheel with his right arm set off lightning bolts of pain. He was fairly certain nothing was broken; the muscle was probably just strained. Still, it was going to be a serious eyesore for the next few days.

Unfortunately, his bum shoulder wasn't his biggest problem now, not by a long shot. What Haley had just told him made all of his problems seem trivial, except for the problem of being in a wheelchair.

It had taken Lucas five minutes to peel himself off the kitchen floor, pour himself into his chair, and amble toward the ringing phone. Haley had been alarmed that it had taken him so long to answer so he'd simply told her he'd been in the bathroom. He hadn't mentioned the fall for obvious reasons. Assuming she'd just called to check up on him, Lucas had been utterly gob-smacked when she'd told him that Brooke was back in Tree Hill. And when she'd then told him that Peyton had come with her, he'd been stunned into utter silence.

After bidding Haley an abrupt goodbye, Lucas had retired to his bedroom where he'd been ever since. Sleep would not be easy to obtain tonight, but he needed the rest; badly. Night after night of only three to four hours of shut-eye was starting to wear on him. The constant cramping in his back still made it next to impossible to get comfortable on a flat surface like a bed, but Lucas was going to have to force himself. Maybe he could take something that would knock him out cold.

As Lucas proceeded to his bathroom to check the medicine cabinet for a sleep-aid, he realized that his concern for his sleep was just a flimsy attempt at distracting himself from the fact that the girl that had taken his heart prisoner so long ago was back in town. Lucas had a million questions and no answers. What was she doing back? Was she here for a visit or for good? Why had she left L.A.? Had something happened? Was there a boyfriend or a fiancé or, worse, a husband with her?

The thought of Peyton and some guy she'd brought back from the city traipsing through the very streets that held so many memories for the two of them made Lucas sick. He had no right to feel that way; she wasn't his anymore, but he couldn't help it. A large part of him wanted to see her; yearned to look into her green eyes, to smell that familiar scent, and to hear that husky voice once again. But then the thought of Peyton seeing him in this chair shattered his desire for a reunion with his ex and left him feeling apprehensive down to the pit of his stomach.

As he reached the bathroom and began to fish through the contents of the medicine cabinet, Lucas knew intuitively that he was on a collision course with Peyton whether he liked it or not. As of yet, he still couldn't decide whether he would like it or not.

* * *

With a flip of the switch, the pole-mounted floodlights came to life and smothered the court in bright, steely light. With Brooke by her side, Peyton stepped onto the Rivercourt for the first time since the night of Rachel's graduation party. The blacktop was cracked, and in certain places there were weeds growing from the chinks in the sediment.

Without a word between them, the two women wandered into the center of the court and looked down at the now faded and washed-out remnants of the signatures they'd spray-painted there on that night so long ago. Peyton's eyes lingered on one in particular; the one that read 'LUCAS & PEYTON – TLA.' A lump formed in her throat and she shut her eyes tightly as that all-too-familiar feeling of loss washed over her.

"We were so hopeful back then, weren't we," said Brooke.

"Felt like we were on top of the world; like all our goals and dreams were right around the corner and all we had to do was walk a few blocks and grab them."

"Yeah, and then the real world snuck up and pulled the rug out from under us."

Peyton sniffled, her eyes stinging with tears. "And some of us lost the things they wanted the most."

Brooke's eyes were alive with sympathy and she took Peyton's hand and slowly guided them over to one of the benches that served the court. The two best friends sat down together, hands still entwined.

"Okay P. Sawyer, time to talk about why you really came back," Brooke said gently.

Peyton looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I know it was because of all the stuff you said on the phone the other night, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the real reason you came back."

"Brooke…" Peyton began, but her brunette friend wouldn't let her finish.

"I know you, Peyton," she said. "You came back to Tree Hill for a boy; your boy."

Lucas. Of course.

Peyton shook her head. "He's not my boy, Brooke. He hasn't been since…"

"Since?" Brooke prompted.

"Since I let him go," Peyton finished in a whisper.

Now it was Brooke's turn to shake her head. "You didn't let him go, Peyton. You two just had a stupid misunderstanding that got blown way out of proportion."

"He asked me to marry him, Brooke. Lucas asked me to marry him and I said someday, but he took it as a 'no' and then we got into this terrible argument and finally I just couldn't take it anymore and I told him to leave and he left," Peyton vented in one breath. "It was a lot more than a 'stupid misunderstanding.'"

Sighing, Brooke put an arm around her shoulder and reflexively, Peyton rested her head against the brunette's shoulder.

"Maybe this could be your second chance. I know you still love him, and I'm pretty sure he still loves you," Brooke offered.

"How do you know? It's been years."

"Because he's Lucas," Brooke replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The boy who's been infatuated with you since he and Haley were having sleepovers in their little footy pajamas."

Peyton chuckled. "How is Haley? You did talk to her, didn't you?"

Brooke straightened herself, silently acknowledging the sudden change of subject, and Peyton lifted her head from the brunette's shoulder. "Yeah, I called her right after my plane touched down. She sounded kind of weird."

"Weird how?" Peyton asked, brows furrowed.

Brooke shrugged. "I don't know, she seemed kind of alarmed that we were in Tree Hill, especially when I told her you were here."

"Oh." That could only mean it had something to do with Lucas. Since the break-up, she and Haley had drifted apart. Part of that was due to the distance and her hectic schedule, but she also suspected it was because of what had happened between her and Lucas. Haley had been Lucas's best friend first so it was only natural that he would be her priority. Though Peyton understood it, it was still painful. She hadn't spoken to Haley in a long time and she missed her.

But if Haley was concerned about her being here, then it was probably because Lucas was seeing someone. At that thought, Peyton felt a tiny spark of hope she hadn't even known still lingered within her extinguish. Of course he would've moved on.

"Hey," Brooke said gently. "Let's worry about that later. Right now, I want to show you something. C'mon."

Brooke led Peyton back to her Comet and just told her to drive and that she would give her directions. "Where are we going?" Peyton asked.

"To our new place."

"What?"

"Yeah, I purchased a really nice piece of property for us in anticipation of a potential homecoming," Brooke explained, a mischievous smile decorating her face. "You're going to love it."

Peyton just looked at her, perplexed. "But I thought you haven't even been back in Tree Hill since we left four years ago. When did you have time to go house-hunting here?"

Brooke didn't respond and just continued to grin at Peyton.

Realization hit her. "Brooke! Tell me you didn't buy a house without even looking at it!"

"What? I had my people come down and look at it for me, and they texted me pictures."

Peyton shook her head. "Wow. Who says obscene amounts of money can't change people?"

Brooke smacked her knee playfully. "Shut up! You'll be thanking me later."

Peyton could only laugh. They continued to drive through the night in silence, letting the radio sooth them, each caught up in their own separate thoughts.

Peyton couldn't help but think of that old saying 'Home is where the heart is.' So true. In Peyton's case, home was where both her heart and the man that held it were.

**~Chapter Seven End**


	8. Encounter

**A/N:** I'm extremely, extremely sorry for the inexcusably long wait for this chapter. I never meant to go on an unannounced hiatus, but a whole bunch of stuff just got in the way. For one, I started classes last week, so studying took up some of my time. I also had some recent car trouble that stressed me out, and when I'm stressed out, I can't write well.

The main culprit, though, was a horrific case of writer's block. I had the absolute hardest time with this chapter and I'm not even sure the end result is that good. I've felt so sluggish and dull-witted lately and I just couldn't seem to grasp the right words to compose this chapter with. There were times I became so frustrated I wanted to tear my own skin off. I can totally see why writers have a tendency to become alcoholics.

Anyway, enough of my whining.

LPfan4ever - I have begun to check out your stories and they are pretty good. You have a lot of great ideas and I envy how quickly you manage to bang out new chapters. Puts me to shame.;)

Your praise means a lot to me. I hope I can continue to be worthy of it.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Encounter**

The expression 'calm before the storm' was probably one of the most overused aphorisms in modern literature, right beside 'what goes around comes around' and 'curiosity killed the cat.' In spite of that, even Lucas, a failed writer, couldn't come up with anything that could better describe this morning. The sun colored the cloudless sky perfectly, and its silvery rays ministered to the land below it with enthusiasm.

A mild early September wind occasionally made the trees and grass hiss as if in pleasure, and the only sound that accented the serene atmosphere was the distant whisper of traffic on the main roads of the small coastal town. Perched in his front yard like a lawn ornament, Lucas breathed in deeply and blew out a sigh, his gaze resting on the heavens above him. It was a textbook perfect morning, and the air seemed calmer and more tranquil than it had ever been.

Naturally, this meant Lucas was in for a rough day.

His shoulder was actually doing better. The full night of pharmaceutically-induced sleep had apparently done him some good as it had loosened up the bruised muscle. It wasn't perfect and he would have to favor his left arm when he rolled himself to work, but at least it wasn't so bad that he would have to propel his chair single-handed. Lucas should've felt relieved at that, but his aching joint merely served as a minor distraction to a much bigger problem.

Peyton was out there somewhere. She was back, and Tree Hill being a small town, he could run into her at any time. He still wasn't sure how he felt about that, or what he would say to her if and when they did come face-to-face. Lucas had dreamt about Peyton all last night. They weren't x-rated dreams, just dreams of her being _there_, and all around him. They were easily the best dreams he'd had in a long time.

For a while now, during his frequently fragmented sleep, he had been afflicted with a recurring nightmare. In it, he woke up in the hospital after his accident, only he was completely paralyzed from the neck down. He wasn't able to feel a thing throughout his entire body, nor could he so much as twitch a finger. The hospital room was sickly white, and he could do nothing else but stare at the milky ceiling. Then, one by one, the faces of each of his friends and family would appear over him: Nathan, Haley, Jamie, his mother, Lily, Brooke, Skillz, Mouth, Junk, Fergie, and Andy. Their lips would move but he could never make out what they were saying. Eventually, as each face appeared, it would then slowly fade away, and Lucas knew intuitively that they would never return; that they were leaving him behind forever. Lucas would impotently try to speak, to form some words with his lips, the words that would convince them to stay, but he never succeeded.

The worst part of the nightmare occurred when the last face vanished and Lucas would start to rise from his body and float above himself, invisible and intangible. The door to the ivory room would open and Peyton would enter, bathed in a golden aura, radiating pure and warm light. Only, she wouldn't be alone. A guy would be with her, and they'd be holding hands, or holding each other intimately and sometimes they'd kiss. Lucas was never able to recognize the guy because he never had any face. He was just some amorphous shadow with no real identity, but it was abundantly clear that the shadow-man and Peyton were together. And so Lucas would watch, helplessly suspended over himself as Peyton would walk up and begin talking to him, hand entwined with the shadow-man's throughout it all. Like with the others, he couldn't hear a word that came out of her mouth, but unlike with the others, he _knew_ what she was saying. She would tell him that she and the shadow-man were in love and that she was happier than she'd ever been in her life. She would tell him that she was sorry about what had happened to him but that she had to let him go so she could be happy with her new love. Then, she would kiss him on the cheek and whisper something into his ear, though Lucas never knew what. All the while, floating above the entire scene in an astral state, Lucas would scream silent screams and flail and gesticulate wildly trying to get Peyton's attention, begging her not to leave him.

Just then, she would look directly up at him and a dazzling smile would light up her face. Then Peyton and her shadowy new love would disappear and Lucas would be left alone, this time for good. The nightmare concluded with Lucas suddenly falling back into his body and then continuing to fall through the floor and into the very earth itself. He would plummet down into a deep, dark chasm and eventually he would meet the bottom, his spine demolished by a jagged piece of rock. That was when he usually woke up.

Lucas was no expert on dreams, but he figured the sudden surcease of a dream that had been plaguing him for weeks now had to mean something. What, he didn't know, but he found it oddly coincidental that the night he learned Peyton was back in town was the night the nightmare chose to leave him alone.

Whatever the case, Lucas didn't have any more time to waste thinking about it. He would just have to take his chances and risk an encounter with his ex. Bracing the wheels of his chair, Lucas set off.

The pain in his shoulder was manageable and it only hampered his pace a little bit. Within a few minutes, he was on the sidewalks of Main Street. People stared. They tried to hide the fact that they were staring or at least limit their voyeurism to short, surreptitious glances, but there was no way for Lucas to go completely unnoticed. He was, after all, Lucas Scott: former Tree Hill Raven, the guy that made the winning shot against Pontiac during the State Championship, and of course the illegitimate son of Mayor Murder. That's what the media and most people around town referred to Dan Scott as. People knew him for that last thing far more than for the others. And he had little doubt that his current 'condition' was the subject of gossip amongst Tree Hill's busybodies; the same types that had made a pariah out of his mother in the immediate days following his conception, when it had gotten out that Dan had knocked her up and then walked out on her so long ago.

They could all go self-fornicate as far as Lucas was concerned, and he kept his eyes focused straight ahead as he navigated the sidewalk, not bothering to return any gazes he received.

After a few minutes, he turned onto Vliet Street, and before long, he came upon Max's music store. It had recently gone out of business, but posters and ads for bands, albums, and gigs still clung to the window and the glass door. He was about to continue onward, until he saw the car parked near the sidewalk a couple of feet away. Lucas was surprised he hadn't noticed it till now.

It was a black 1968 Mercury Comet Caliente, its rag-top down, and its cherry-red interior on full display. Lucas knew it was her car. It was _the_ Comet.

Dazed, his heart pounded like a timpani drum. Then, the sound of the bell attached to the door of the music store caught his attention, and he turned, only to be greeted by a set of shocked green eyes.

_Her_ eyes.

* * *

It was fairly common knowledge that Peyton Sawyer was not a morning person. She loathed getting out of bed before at least nine o'clock, and when work or some other obligation forced her to, she needed around five cups of coffee until she was reasonably coherent and those unfortunate enough to be around her were safe from being mauled. Strangely enough, though, the digits on the bedside alarm clock read 7:04, yet she was wide awake. Maybe it was the disorienting feeling of being back in her hometown after so long, or the unfamiliarity of the house she was in, but whatever the case, she'd only slept a few hours and had been lying in bed staring at the ceiling for the last forty-five minutes.

Of course, it was said that those that couldn't sleep at night were worried about the future, and Peyton certainly had good reason to be apprehensive about the days ahead of her. She currently had no job or career, and no real idea of what she was going to do with her life. L.A. had been nothing but a sinkhole, and since she had no college degree, the only form of employment she'd be able to obtain was the minimum wage kind.

Not that Peyton thought she was too good for that sort of thing. She had every intention of contributing to the household her best friend had generously provided for her, even if it meant donning an apron and busing tables. Still, even though a job like that would pay the bills and quell her financial concerns, it certainly wouldn't fulfill her. Peyton needed passion in her life. She needed to be passionate about her work, and the only career she could see herself being passionate about was a career in music. It was one of her greatest dreams, second only to a certain blue-eyed boy from her past, and she was terrified that she'd lost them both forever.

Throwing the comforter off, she climbed out of bed and took a moment to stretch. The walls of the room were red, the same shade of red as the walls in her childhood room. Peyton wondered if Brooke had anticipated her moving back to Tree Hill, a notion reinforced by the fact that the closet was stocked with clothes that Peyton liked, as well as an assortment of Clothes Over Bro's items that had apparently been specifically tailored for Peyton.

After a quick shower, Peyton threw on a dark purple summer dress that sported tiny leafy designs. When she ventured out of her room again, the house was quiet which meant that Brooke was probably still asleep. By the time she finished her breakfast of cereal and orange juice, the sun had begun to leak in through the blinds, and somewhere between the sink and the rack mounted on the wall that held the car keys, Peyton had decided that she was going to see Lucas.

She wasn't sure how she'd reached that decision so quickly and resolutely, but she knew that delaying it any longer would just tear her up inside. He might have a girlfriend, and Peyton didn't know if she could handle seeing him with someone else, but to go on not knowing would be so much worse. Besides, she had no right to judge him for moving on. She'd dated Julian back in L.A., after all.

She left a note for Brooke, then grabbed her keys and made her way out to her car. Sliding into the Comet, she brought the engine to life and in a matter of seconds, she was pulling out of the driveway and cruising toward town. Now lit up by day rather than shrouded in night, Peyton took in the sights and sounds of Tree Hill all over again, and she felt a calmness descend over her.

Then she remembered who she was going to see, and that calm evaporated as a coil of both anxiety and excitement tightened in her stomach. Her palms began to sweat and she realized her resolve was folding like a cheap paper bag. When she turned onto Vliet Street, it seemed almost fortuitous. This street was home to a place that she'd always used to go to whenever she was feeling lost or when she was looking for a little faith.

Pulling the Comet to the curb, Peyton exited her car and stood on the sidewalk for a minute staring at the storefront of Max's music store. Her heart soared at the sight of the band posters that blanketed the windows. It looked exactly like it had the last time she'd been here. She opened the door, the familiar tinkle of the bell greeting her, and so wrapped up in that nostalgic sound was she, that for an instant, she failed to process what she saw.

The shelves and racks that once held scores of vinyl records and CDs were now barren and empty. The cash register was missing from the counter, as was everything else. The place was dead.

Peyton actually felt like she might cry. It was girly and stupid, but she felt gutted. Max had obviously gone out of business, probably only recently, and to Peyton, it was as though a piece of her childhood had been surgically excised. Most of the bands and musicians that had shaped her life and her view of the world had been discovered in this store. When Lucas had been in the hospital, comatose after a heart attack, she had sought refuge in this store. And now it was gone.

The bell sung again as she despondently opened the door and stepped back out onto the sidewalk. A person in a wheelchair was stopped a few feet away, staring at her car. The sound of the bell had apparently captured his attention, because he turned his head towards her, and when he did, her grief over the record store that was no more was suddenly a distant memory. In fact, the entire world around them seemed to come to a grinding halt and fall away.

Her green eyes met with a pair of electric blue eyes. Eyes that she'd know anywhere and had dreamed about constantly. Eyes that now seemed to be faded and burdened.

_His_ eyes.

* * *

There are moments in life when something doesn't seem real until one actually witnesses it, even with prior knowledge of its existence. Lucas had known Peyton was back in town since last night, but it finally sunk in that the girl who had haunted his heart for so long was physically here now that he was actually staring at her.

And what a sight she was. Lucas didn't know how it was possible, but Peyton had actually become even more beautiful since the last time he'd seen her. Her flawless skin was slightly bronze from her time in California and her mane of curls was a bit longer and a darker shade of blonde. He could swear she was even a little taller, though his perception may have been distorted from being in a sitting position. His mouth went dry as he took in her long, toned legs peeking out from beneath her dark magenta dress, and he was instantly taken back through all the boyhood fantasies he used to have about those legs. His eyes travelled up to her exposed collar bone and lean shoulders, and finally back to her emerald eyes.

She was stunning. A goddess on earth and Lucas was humbled. He had never expected to see Peyton Sawyer in Tree Hill again. After all, she had told him that this place was nothing more than a cauldron of bad memories for her. Yet here she was. Lucas hated the fact that his heart still beat for her. He hated that she still took his breath away. Worst of all, he hated that she was seeing him like this; crippled and in a wheelchair.

She stared at him in stunned disbelief and yet all Lucas wanted to do was kiss her. He wanted to kiss her a thousand times over. He wanted to free himself from this contraption, rise to his feet, force his useless legs to work, and take her in his arms and never let go. He was still in love with her, damnit. Seeing Peyton again like this had awakened old passions and desires within him, and it pissed him off to no end that she still had so much power over him. Lucas cursed himself for ever leaving the house this morning. This was the worst possible time for something like this to happen. He couldn't afford to have these types of feelings now.

Peyton's eyes were a torrent of conflicting emotions. She took one tentative step towards him.

"Lucas…?" she whispered. "What…what happ—"

"Don't!" Lucas barked, harsher than he'd intended to be. "I can't do this right now. I have to go."

He began to push himself forward as quickly as possible, ignoring the painful protests of his still tender shoulder. He didn't get far.

"Wait!" Peyton practically yelled, voice tinged with anguish. "Luke, please! Tell me what happened to you."

Lucas halted and turned his chair around to face her. The pleading look in her eyes made him quiver on the inside, but he mustered up as much steely resolve as he could. He took himself back to that hotel room in L.A. all those years ago when she'd rejected him and then pushed him away. On some rational level, Lucas knew he was just as responsible for what happened that day as she was, but he couldn't see through his own pain or his bitterness. So he hardened his heart.

"None of your business," he replied coolly.

Then he turned back around and proceeded on his way. It wasn't easy, not in the slightest, especially when she continued to beckon him, her voice laced with tears. But he didn't allow himself to waver and he continued on.

Peyton didn't follow, and eventually, her voice faded.

**~Chapter Eight End**


	9. Tense Conversations

**A/N:** So does anyone remember this story? Better question, does anyone still care? Probably not, but I intend to finish it anyway. Been awhile since I've updated, and I can't apologize enough to all those that were keeping up with this story. As of now, this story is officially off hiatus. I promise that I'll devote all my free time to completing this story and hopefully, the next chapter will come without the insanely long wait. There should be about fourteen chapters in total, so there are only five more to go after this one.

Anyway, here's chapter nine.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Tense Conversations**

The drive back to Brooke's house—though she supposed it was her house, too—was a blur. The walk from her car to the front door had been a haze. It seemed to Peyton that one minute she'd been standing on the sidewalk in front of the music store, completely shell-shocked and heartbroken, and in the next instant she was here on the porch. Dazed didn't even begin to describe her mental state. She hadn't been able to string together a single coherent thought for the past ten minutes. Her synapses couldn't make any connections and her brain seemed incapable of processing what she had just seen.

Inside, Brooke, clad in a pink bathrobe, was making breakfast. Peyton barely even noticed her best friend as she wandered over to the couch and collapsed onto it, her purse and keys clattering to the carpet. She didn't register Brooke until the brunette was standing above her, a concerned look on her face.

"Peyton? What's wrong?" she inquired.

Peyton couldn't seem to make her mouth form coherent words. "I…he…he was…"

Brooke kneeled down in front of her and gently braced her shoulders. "Okay, okay, just breathe. I need complete sentences here, sweetie."

All Peyton could do was stare at Brooke, bewildered. Sudden comprehension flashed in the brunette's eyes.

"Oh God, you saw Lucas, didn't you?"

Peyton nodded, still not quite able to speak.

"Oh honey, I'm so sorry," Brooke soothed. "Was it that bad?"

Peyton nodded again.

Brooke hugged her. "Tell me all about it."

"Brooke…" Peyton forced out, her voice cracking as fresh tears made their way down her cheeks. "He…he's…"

"Yeah? He's what?"

"He's in a wheelchair, Brooke!" Peyton nearly shouted, startling her friend.

Now it was Brooke's turn to look shocked. "He's…wheelchair?"

"Yeah," Peyton whispered.

"Wait, what happened?" Brooke asked. "Oh God, is it permanent?"

Peyton shrugged, wiping at her cheeks. "I don't know, I never got a chance to ask him."

Neither of them spoke for about a minute until Brooke suddenly shot to her feet. "So that's why Haley sounded so weird on the phone last night!"

Peyton's head snapped up towards Brooke, alarmed by that revelation. Anger and resentment welled up within her. Sure, she hadn't had much contact with Haley and Nathan for the past couple of years, but she never would've expected them to keep something like this from her and Brooke. It was all so twisted. Peyton remembered a time that now seemed like another lifetime ago when something like this would've been inconceivable. Back then, they'd all been so close and now it was more apparent than ever that there were gaps the size of canyons in their circle of friends.

"I don't understand any of this," Peyton mumbled.

"Yeah, well it's about time we got some answers," Brooke replied resolutely.

Peyton watched as her best friend stalked toward the phone. Peyton got up to join her as she picked up the receiver and began to dial. "Brooke, what are you doing?"

Brooke glanced at her from the side, the receiver to her ear. "Like I said, we're getting some answers."

A second later, Brooke hit the speakerphone button and replaced the receiver. The sound of the paging tone filled the air as Peyton nervously waited, wondering who Brooke was calling.

Finally, there was a click and a familiar voice said: "_Hello?_"

"Haley?" Brooke spoke evenly.

"_Brooke?_"

Brooke immediately started in. "Something you want to tell us, Tutor-Mom?"

"_What do you mean_?" Peyton didn't miss the nervousness in her voice.

"You know what she means," Peyton said.

"_Peyton? Is that you?_" Haley asked curiously.

"Yes, it's me," Peyton relied coolly. "When exactly were you going to tell us about Lucas's condition?"

Silence. Then, after a beat: "_So you saw him._"

Peyton couldn't contain her resentment. "Yes, I saw him! Why else would we be calling you?"

"_Hey! I know you're upset, but you don't have to be nasty._"

"I don't have a right to be nasty?" Peyton let out a humorless laugh. "What planet are you living on? How dare you keep something like this from us!"

"'_How dare I?' Where do you get off thinking you have any right to know in the first place?"_ Haley barked back.

Stunned, Peyton could barely speak. "What do you mean I don't have a right to know, Haley? We're all supposed to be friends here."

"_Oh right, because we've talked sooo much during the past three years,_" Haley bit out.

"That's not fair, Haley," Brooke jumped in. "Our phones didn't ring, either."

"_Maybe you just weren't listening, because I've had enough conversations with both of your voicemails to know that something was getting through,_" Haley said. "_What, have you two had your phones in silent mode all this time?_"

Guilt rose up in Peyton and she saw it reflected in Brooke's eyes. Haley had a point. Peyton's life had been a non-stop rollercoaster ride of chaos and meetings and artist demands for the past few years and she'd been lucky to find even two minutes to herself. She knew Brooke's schedule had been no different if not worse. The two best friends had had a tough time staying in contact with each other let alone anyone else.

"Okay Haley, maybe you're right," Brooke admitted. "But we're here now and we just want to help. We've all been through so much together and we used to be so close. Please just let us in."

A long sigh escaped the speaker.

"_Look,_" Haley began. "_I was going to call you and Peyton but Lucas made me promise not to. He made us all promise not to_."

Peyton felt like she'd been stabbed in the chest with an ice pick. That hurt so much. That Lucas hadn't wanted her in his life. Even though technically they hadn't been in each other's lives for a long time now. To say they'd ended on a bad note would be a gross understatement. Peyton relived that horrible day in that hotel room in her nightmares constantly and she'd never been able to work up the courage to call him or contact him in any way since. Still, the fact that things were so bad between them that even getting injured badly enough to end up in a wheelchair hadn't warranted so much as an email was a painful realization.

"Typical Broody," Brooke remarked.

Yeah, it was typical, Peyton thought. Lucas had always had a tendency to crawl into his shell and isolate himself whenever he had a personal problem to deal with. But this was on a whole new level.

"Haley." Peyton heard the trepidation in her own voice. "What happened to him?"

Silence. Then: "_It was an accident_."

"Okay, I get that, but how did it happen?"

Another sigh. "_It's hard to talk about that night. It's not really a conversation we should have over the phone._"

"Haley, please…" Peyton pleaded.

"Okay, look," Brooke interjected. "If you don't want to talk about it over the phone, we can just come and see you in person. You're in Tree Hill, right?"

"_No, Nathan and I are living in Charleston now. He's playing for the Chiefs. They're a B-League team_," explained Haley.

Peyton exchanged a perplexed look with Brooke. Clearly, there was a lot they'd missed out on.

"Okay," Brooke replied. "So does that mean Karen's here? We can talk to her."

"_No, Karen and Lily are out at sea with Andy_."

Green eyes met with chocolate-brown eyes across a sea of bewilderment.

"Why?" Peyton asked disbelievingly.

"_Because Lucas didn't want her here,_" Haley answered. "_He didn't want any of us here_."

Peyton didn't miss the despondency in the girl's voice. It occurred to her that maybe she'd been too hard on Haley before. She had no idea what had happened or what Haley had gone through. Whatever had happened to Lucas had been bad and it clearly had affected Haley almost as badly as it had Lucas. It was killing Peyton not to know, but it was probably hell for Haley to talk about it.

"Haley, I'm sorry," Peyton apologized. "I know I wasn't fair to you and it has been way too long since we talked. But, seeing Lucas like that…I just…"

She felt tears threatening to escape at the memory of seeing the boy she loved stricken and confined to a wheelchair. Knowing how independent and self-reliant Lucas was, Peyton could only imagine what it must be like for him, forced to rely on a contraption to get around. He was suffering; Peyton knew that for a fact. She'd seen it in his eyes. More than anything, she wished she could make it all better, because the thought of him hurting hurt her.

"_I know,_" Haley whispered painfully.

Something occurred to Peyton then. "Haley, he's going to rehab, right? I mean, is there someone who takes him?"

"_Of course. Skillz drives him to his rehab sessions and checks in on him daily_," replied Haley, a tinge of resentment in her voice. "_We wouldn't just leave him here all alone with no one to look after him_."

"Haley, I didn't mean…" Peyton tried to explain.

"_I know exactly what you meant, and I don't appreciate it!_" Haley snapped.

Brooke snorted. "Okay, you think you can stop hurling accusations for two seconds, Haley? This isn't getting us anywhere."

There was silence all around. Haley eventually spoke up. "_You're right. That wasn't fair_."

"It's okay," Peyton said. But it wasn't. Nothing was okay.

"_You just…you have no idea what it's been like dealing with this for the past three months_," Haley said, the raw anguish in her voice palpable.

"We get it, Hales," Brooke soothed. "We just want to help."

"_I know_," Haley said. "_Look, I have to get Jamie to school. Text me your address, and tomorrow I'll come down there and tell you everything. It's only fair_."

"Okay, we'll see you then," Brooke said.

A resounding click and then a dial tone. Peyton and Brooke simply stared at one another, silent.

"Well, we're definitely back in Tree Hill," Brooke quipped.

"Home sweet home," Peyton muttered.

* * *

"Daddy, why does mom sound so mad?"

"I don't know, buddy," Nathan said to his four-year-old son. That was the truth. He had no clue who Haley was talking to on the phone or what it was that was making her so upset, but he was sure he'd find out shortly. In the meantime, he tried his best to focus on the Clippers game but it wasn't really working. The images on the plasma screen failed to hold his attention for more than a minute at a time; his mind was elsewhere.

He glanced over at Jamie, whose eyes were glued to the game, and almost envied his son's innocence and naiveté. Nathan couldn't remember the last time he'd been that carefree. Lately, the weight of the world had been pressing steadily on his shoulders, and that weight had a name: guilt.

The guilt came from the fact that while Nathan was here, enjoying life with his family and slowly working his way toward his dream, his brother was back in Tree Hill, alone and suffering. Sure, Lucas had chosen to be alone. He'd made it damn clear that none of them were wanted, not even his own mother. But Nathan knew his brother well enough to understand that he was just scared and frustrated. Had he been in Lucas's position, he'd have probably been the same way.

And he easily could've been.

Lucas was in a wheelchair because he'd been thrown through a window during a bar-brawl that Nathan had started. His temper had gotten the better of him yet again and his brother had paid for it this time. That fact would haunt Nathan for the rest of his life. Had it just been him, he probably would've quit basketball altogether out of shame. But it wasn't just him, it was also Haley and Jamie. He had a family to support and a son that looked up to him, and he wasn't going to allow regret and the bitter aftertaste of his mistakes turn him into Dan.

Nevertheless, guilt never slept.

Haley came into the room a minute later, features strained and eyes full of weariness. Must not have been a pleasant phone conversation. Nathan watched as his wife bent down and kissed Jamie on the head before instructing him to go and get ready for school. As Jamie scampered out of the living room, Haley slumped down on the couch beside Nathan.

Without a word, he gathered her up with his arm and pulled her into his side, taking in her familiar scent and basking in the feel of her. Even after almost six years it never got old. "Who were you talking to?"

Haley sighed. "Peyton and Brooke."

Nathan simply nodded. It hit him hard when he realized just how long it'd been since he'd really seen or talked to either of those girls. Especially Peyton. Sure, once upon a time, they'd had a highly destructive relationship, but after they'd broken up and Nathan had found Haley, they'd slowly developed a close friendship. But once graduation passed, and their lives took them in different directions, things changed. And then, when she and Lucas broke up, communication had just seemed to cease all together. Nathan hated himself for letting that happen, almost as much as he hated himself for punching that moron at The Range three months ago.

"I'm guessing it was about Luke," Nathan ventured.

"Yeah," she replied. "Peyton ran into him and apparently all hell broke loose."

They were silent for a bit before Nathan spoke up. "Do you think we made the right decision? Doing what Lucas wanted and not telling them about what happened?"

Haley looked at him. He saw many things in her brown eyes, though thankfully, he no longer saw the disappointment and accusation he'd glimpsed far too many times following the accident. They'd worked through all that, but sometimes, Nathan still expected to be met with a harsh gaze.

"At the time, I would've probably said yes," Haley said. "But now, I definitely think we made a mistake."

"You were just looking out for Luke," Nathan consoled, squeezing her arm gently. "He was under enough stress as it was. Bringing his ex-girlfriend into the picture probably would've made it worse."

"Yeah, but I could've at least called and told Peyton and Brooke about what happened. I accused them of being distant, but really, I'm just as guilty."

"Hey, c'mon Hales," Nathan soothed. "We've all made mistakes these past few years. Now, maybe things can be different."

"You're right," Haley agreed. "They will be. Tomorrow, I'm going to go down there and tell them everything face-to-face."

Nathan surged with pride at his wife's grace, but he knew that if anyone should be doing the explaining, it was him. "I'll go."

"What?"

"Tonight, after practice, I'll go to Tree Hill and explain everything to Brooke and Peyton," Nathan said resolutely.

"Nathan…"

He shook his head. "No Hales, it's my responsibility. I'm the one who caused this whole thing."

Here brown eyes were full of love. "I love you for that, Nathan, but at least let me come with you."

He took his wife's hand in his and planted a tender kiss on her brow. "I love _you_ for that, but this is something I have to do on my own. I need to do it."

They held each other's gazes, not saying a word until Haley sighed. "Okay."

Nathan stood up but Haley's hand on his forearm stopped him. He turned toward her and was nearly blown away by the raw emotion in her eyes. "You know I forgive you, for everything, right?"

Nathan was silent for a moment. He looked away briefly before returning his line of sight to Haley. "Yeah. But I don't know if I can ever forgive myself."

* * *

His wheelchair was beginning to squeak. Lucas had first noticed it during the trek back home and by the time he made it through the door, it would've been noticeable to the hearing-impaired. He'd have to get the damn thing serviced the next time he went to his rehab. He knew he put the thing through a lot so it was probably inevitable that it would start to break down.

But who cared about that? It was the least of his worries right now. He rolled over to the kitchen table and unloaded the bag he'd been carrying in his lap. From the bag, he withdrew a bottle of vodka. Originally, he'd vowed not to have alcohol of any kind in the house out of fear that, in an impaired state, he might injure himself further. He really didn't give a damn about that now.

On the way home from work, he'd pit-stopped at a liquor store and bought the vodka in hopes of getting so drunk he'd black out and not remember the encounter with Peyton when he regained consciousness. It was Friday and the shop was closed on weekends so he had nowhere to be tomorrow or the day after. He was going to bleach his brain with the alcohol and get so obliterated he wouldn't know coherency if it bit him on the ass.

Because he didn't want to remember how beautiful she'd been or how much he'd wanted her in that moment. He didn't want to remember that she'd seen him like this. It was the one thing he'd wanted to avoid in all this and now it was too late. Peyton was here; her gorgeous green eyes had taken in his crippled form, and the very thought made him burn with humiliation. He'd never live this down.

Lucas cradled the vodka bottle in his hands, turning it over-and-over, watching the liquid slosh back and forth. Herein lay his escape, at least for a little while. All he had to do was break the seal and tip away.

Hesitation stayed his hand. That hesitation was born out of a single instant of self-awareness in which he realized just how pathetic he had become. He tore his eyes from the bottle and let his vision roam around the kitchen and down the hall, taking in the plethora of memories the walls of this house contained. He yearned to be the Lucas he was before a shard of glass had imbedded itself in his spine, or even before he'd lost Peyton. That Lucas was gone, though; dead or lost in the ether somewhere.

He returned his gaze to the vodka, ready to pop it open and embrace oblivion. The front door stole his attention as Skillz burst in.

"Yo' Luke!" he greeted.

Lucas said nothing in response as Skillz strutted down the hall toward the kitchen. When he got to within a few feet of Lucas, he stopped, his eyes locking on the vodka bottle.

"What the hell's that?" His tone was no longer amiable and the look on his face revealed his consternation.

"Skillz…"

Before Lucas could finish, Skillz suddenly lunged forward and yanked the bottle from his grasp.

"Damn it, Skillz!" Lucas barked. He attempted to grab the bottle back but Skillz had the advantage in mobility and back-stepped out of his reach.

"You want it?" Skillz taunted. "Get up out of that chair and get it."

Lucas fumed. "How about I get up out of this chair and kick your ass?"

Skillz snorted. "Even better."

"Look, just give me the damn bottle!" Lucas thundered. "I need it!"

"The hell you do!" Skillz shot back. "You need this about as much as you need another piece of glass in your spine."

Lucas had to smile internally at that. Sure, he was pissed at his friend, but he couldn't help but admire his candor. But he really, _**really**_ wanted that vodka.

"Look," he pleaded. "We can share. Get wasted together and watch a game or something. C'mon, just hand it over."

Skillz shook his head. "No way, dawg. You don't think I remember what happened the last time you drowned your sorry ass in alcohol?"

Yeah, okay, so he'd developed a bit of a drinking problem three years ago after his fallout with Peyton. He'd shown up to class hung-over a few times, stumbled in late at night drunk on a couple of occasions, but he hadn't been like that in a long time. He wasn't an alcoholic. Hell, he hadn't even had a drink in months.

"Look Skillz, I'm a fucking adult and I can make my own goddamn decisions!" he seethed. "That liquor is mine; I bought it, so give it back!"

But Skillz stood his ground, not budging an inch. The two friends stared each other down. Lucas's eyes darted between Skillz and the vodka bottle, searching for some kind of opening in which he could retrieve his pilfered booze. Before he could come up with anything, Skillz broke the stalemate when he suddenly side-stepped into the bathroom.

Knowing what his friend intended to do, Lucas grabbed the rims of his chair and frantically propelled himself forward toward the doorway Skillz had just disappeared through. He heard the hollow thud of the toilet seat hitting the base and then a pressurized pop. He reached the bathroom doorway just in time to witness the contents of the vodka bottle being poured into the toilet. The glub-glub-glub of the alcohol escaping and the steady trickle of it hitting the water in the bowl ignited Lucas's anger.

He slammed his fist into the doorframe hard enough to send a bolt of pain all the way up his arm. "You're such a dick, you know that?"

Skillz dismissed his rant as he finished pouring the bottle out. He flushed the toiled and tossed the empty container into the waist-basket near the sink.

"You owe me forty-bucks, asshole!"

When Skillz finally turned to him, he had a disgusted look on his face. "Who the hell are you, dawg? You gotta' be some kind of impostor."

"Oh gee, I'm so sorry I'm not a ball of sunshine right now," Lucas bit out. He was surprised at the venom in his own voice, but he couldn't stop himself. "I'm in a wheelchair, I can barely walk and might never regain full mobility, my back has been killing me for the past three fucking months, and oh, to top it all off, my ex-girlfriend, the one that tore out my heart and stomped on it, showed up out of the blue today and ambushed me. Forgive me for a being a little dark."

Skillz's face registered shock. "Peyton's back in town?"

Lucas nodded in response.

"Damn, no wonder you was about to hit the bottle."

"Until you showed up," Lucas sniped. "Thanks for stopping by; now kindly get the fuck out."

The aired changed suddenly and when Skillz's eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, Lucas knew he'd gone too far. His friend said nothing at first. Lucas wanted to apologize, but he couldn't seem to force the words past his lips.

When Skillz finally spoke, there was a timber in his voice that Lucas had never heard before in all the time he'd known him.

"So that's how it is, huh?" he ground out. "Fine, I'm a get up outta' here, but not before I say what I came to say. My Uncle Russell died yesterday. His funeral's on Monday, same time as your therapy session, so I came here to tell you I couldn't take you. But I figured you could just reschedule and go with me to the funeral; that I could have one of my best friends with me when I paid respects. But nah, I ain't about to do that now."

Lucas's stomach sank to his feet. It was too late for self-recrimination at this point. If there was any doubt left, it was gone now: he was the biggest piece of shit that had ever lived.

Skillz wasn't finished: "You know, when we first met and became friends, we promised we'd always keep it real with each other. So I'm a keep it real with you now. You turned into a real punk, Luke. I had your back all these years, but now, when I need you to have mine, you too busy feeling sorry for yourself to give a damn about me or anyone else. I don't even know who the hell you are anymore, dawg. I feel like I'm looking at a stranger. And this stranger ain't nobody I wanna' be around. No more excuses, dawg, and no more chances, I'm all out."

Frozen in place, Lucas couldn't make himself say or do anything as Skillz shook his head, turned, and walked away. Before exiting, he stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and glanced back at Lucas. "If the old Luke is still in there and decides to make an appearance, then I'm a let you take this back. Till' then, find someone else to take you to therapy."

And then Skillz was gone. The sound of the front door opening and closing didn't even register in Lucas's ears. What did register was the fact that he was now truly alone and it was all his fault.

* * *

The melancholic sounds of The Cure kept Peyton company as she sat Indian-style on her bed, hunched over a sketchpad. The pencil whispered furiously, guided by its master's hand in a curious dance. Old habits die hard and Peyton still found herself with a need to sketch whenever she was stressed-out or depressed.

Or when she couldn't get Lucas out of her head.

"Wow," Brooke's voice announced her presence in the doorway. "The Cure playing on that old record player of yours, you bent over a sketchpad; now it really feels like we're home."

Peyton shot her a crooked smile. "Yeah, well, I needed to do something to pass the time."

"Nervous about tomorrow?"

Peyton let out a puff of breath and nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I really want to know what happened, but at the same time, I'm scared to find out."

Brooke approached the bed and plopped down across from Peyton. "Yeah, I get it. I just want things to get back to the way they used to be."

"Yeah, so do I," Peyton replied. _I want that more than anything_.

The sound of the doorbell startled them both.

"Who could that be at this hour?" Brooke wondered.

"No idea."

Peyton followed Brooke as she went to answer the door. As far as she knew, the brunette had yet to give Haley the address of this house, so it couldn't be her. For a split second, Peyton's heart sped up at the thought that it might be Lucas.

But when Brooke opened the door, it wasn't the blond Scott-brother.

"Nathan?"

"Hey Brooke, long time no see."

**~Chapter Nine End**


	10. Before the Storm

**A/N:** Hey everyone, just trucking along. This chapter ended up being longer than I thought it would be, but it was necessary to fit in all the story material I needed to. I have officially determined that this story will be fifteen chapters long, and some of the coming chapters might be just as long as this one.

bendecida: It's really, really good to hear from you. I'd ask you how you were doing but you probably get that enough as it is, so I'll just say thanks for still keeping up with this story and reviewing. Stay strong.;)

xLP-TLAx: Wow, I'm flattered that something that I wrote managed to provoke a reaction like that. I'm a big fan of your fics and I'm looking forward to an update for "You can't run from the truth."

TheCreativeOne17: Thanks, I appreciate it. Your work is awesome. Can't wait for an update to "Between You and Me."

Note: Scenes in italics are flashbacks.

Well, without further ado, here's chapter ten.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Before the Storm**

After exchanging a hug with Brooke, Nathan approached Peyton cautiously. The brunette seemed genuinely glad to see him, but he wasn't sure how her best friend felt. The blonde simply looked at him, no particular emotion on her face.

Then, much to Nathan's relief, she broke out into a gentle smile and rushed to embrace him. After a few seconds, she pulled back and punched him lightly in the chest.

"Thanks for keeping in touch all these years, you jerk," she playfully reprimanded.

Nathan let out a laugh. "Yeah, I guess I deserved that."

"I'll say," Brooke quipped as she strolled over to join them. "Your wife already gave us the third degree on the phone this afternoon, so it's only fair."

Nathan winced. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. Haley's been going through a lot lately and she's kind of on edge."

"Nate, it's okay," Peyton assured him.

"We were expecting her tomorrow," Brooke said. "But since you're here…Hey wait, how did you know where this place was? I didn't get a chance to send Haley the address yet."

"The internet," Nathan replied.

"What?"

"A famous fashion designer house-shopping in her hometown tends to be pretty big news on the gossip sites," Nathan explained. "Unfortunately, not many of them respect privacy all that much."

"Ugh!" Brooke snorted in disgust. "All the trouble I go through to be inconspicuous by sending people up here to scope out this place for me, and still, they get the jump on me. I hate tabloids!"

"Well, it ended up being convenient for me," Nathan joked.

Brooke just glared at him and Peyton chuckled. The three of them shared a moment that hadn't been shared for years; not since jobs, and careers, and break-ups had distanced them from one another. For just that instant, it almost felt like the old days. But then Nathan remembered why he'd come here and what he had to do.

The mood immediately became serious. Wordlessly, Brooke and Peyton each took a seat on the couch while Nathan perched himself on a loveseat directly opposite them. The two women watched him silently, waiting for him to speak.

"Look," he began. "I know Haley said she'd tell you everything about what happened to Lucas, but I decided to come here now and do it myself. Not just because I wanted to see you guys, but because I had to be the one that explained things. It's my responsibility and I know how hard it is for Haley to talk about."

"What you mean it's your responsibility?" Peyton asked.

Nathan sighed. This was it, no turning back now. Taking a deep breath, he plunged in: "Because…what happened to Lucas, him being in a wheelchair, is because of me. Everything is my fault."

The women looked at each other incredulously then back to Nathan.

"Your fault? It was just an accident, Nathan, you can't blame yourself," Brooke attempted to console.

"No! It wasn't an accident." He was touched that Brooke was so willing to give him the benefit of the doubt when she didn't even know what had happened, and even after they'd been out of contact for so long, but he couldn't let her cut him any breaks. He sure as hell didn't deserve any.

"Nathan, how did this happen?" Peyton gently asked.

He took a deep breath before speaking. "Okay, a few months ago, when I was tenth pick in the draft for the Seattle Sonics, Reebok offered me a contract for my own shoe line."

"Nate, that's awesome!" Peyton said.

"Wow, pretty soon, your autograph's going to be worth almost as much as mine," Brooke quipped.

Nathan, however, didn't even crack a smile and the brunette sobered up. This part was the hardest. It was hard thinking about that night and it was even harder to relive it. There was no room for jokes though he appreciated her attempt to lighten things up.

"So anyway," he continued. "Me, Haley, and Lucas met up with some of Reebok's executives at this sports bar down in Wilmington. They were going to debut the shoe and we were all just going to have a few drinks and celebrate. It was supposed to be a great night."

Nathan heard his voice waver a little bit on that last sentence. The women cast sympathetic eyes on him and he wanted to tell them to stop because he didn't deserve their sympathy, but instead, he cleared his throat and forced himself to keep going.

"It was supposed to be a great night," he repeated. "But instead, it turned into a nightmare. Everyone else had left and it was just me and Luke. These guys came up asking for an autograph, but it turned out they were Portland fans and they were just trying to screw with me. Their ringleader was a real dick and he kept pushing my buttons wanting to fight me and all, and I was about ready to let him have it, but then Luke stopped me."

Ever so subtly, the corners of Peyton's mouth rose until they formed a small smile. Nathan saw something in her eyes then, something he couldn't really identify, but he had a pretty good idea what it was. If his instincts were right, there was hope for Lucas.

No time to dwell on that now. There was also anxiety in the blonde's eyes and Nathan knew he had to finish telling her and Brooke what happened.

"So we left. I was outside waiting for Luke to fetch the limo driver when I heard that guy yelling about how I'd hit him and he was going to sue me."

_Three Months Ago_

_Nathan paced the sidewalk, desperately trying to rid himself of the anger and frustration coursing through his veins. The frantic whisper of traffic passing through the street before him did little to quell his still elevated temper and he just wished Lucas would hurry up with the limo so they could get the hell out of here._

_He had let that asshole Greg get under his skin. He could still hear the little fucker's voice in his head, taunting him. And then he realized it wasn't in his head. It was echoing across the street from inside The Range._

"_I witnessed it!" Nathan heard him bellow. "He hit me! I'm going to sue that punk!"_

_His fists clenched at his sides and his temple throbbed with rage. He'd never even touched the pint-sized shithead. And who the hell was he calling a punk? Every instinct inside him, every single ounce of better judgment he had screamed at him to stay put and wait for Lucas._

_He deafened himself to the screams, however, and was already crossing the street and heading for the bar's entrance before he could think better of it. When he charged back into the bar, Nathan saw Greg only a few feet away with two of his stupid friends, cackling like a hyena._

_This was wrong, he knew it. He was better than this, and like Lucas had said, he had too much to lose. But he couldn't let it go. His pride and his temper were in the driver's seat._

"_Hey!" he called out to Greg, pointing at the shorter man. "I never touched you! And if I did, you'd be out cold."_

_He and Greg were in each other's faces now. To Nathan, the guy looked even greasier and slimier than he had before. He felt dirty even being in the guy's presence. The scowl on his face made him even uglier._

"_Too late, Seattle-boy," Greg sneered. "You should've left with that fat-ass wife of yours."_

_It all happened at once. A blinding-white rage like raw electricity; a sharp pain in his fist as it connected with Greg's jaw at high speed; and Greg collapsing like a cardboard box. _

_Nathan had little time to bask in the aftermath of his actions, because Greg's oversized bruiser of a friend charged him immediately. Then it was the brute's meaty fist that connected with Nathan's jaw. Pain exploded throughout his entire head and he saw stars. He felt himself stumble backward. He was losing his footing and was about to fall when he was saved at the last minute by a pair of arms…that proceeded to lock him in a full-nelson._

_He tried his hardest to struggle free but he was still reeling from the punch he'd received. The big guy was in front of him now, rage in his beady eyes, and with the force of a sledgehammer, he delivered a crippling punch to Nathan's stomach, knocking the wind out. Nathan felt like he might throw-up but he swallowed it down and continued to try and free himself from the grip of the guy in back of him._

_Too late._

_Another iron punch from the brute, this time to his left cheek. Then another, and another, and Nathan tasted blood. His vision blurred, and through the haze, he could see patrons scattering left and right. One of the bartenders was on his cell phone, no doubt calling the police. And then he saw the brute winding up his arm, preparing a blow that would no doubt finish him off._

_The brute never got a chance to deliver it. A fist came out of nowhere and landed on the brute's jaw, sending him reeling._

_Lucas._

_Nathan used the distraction his brother had provided to his advantage and stomped the foot of the guy holding him in a full-nelson, earning a yelp of pain. Nathan then elbowed the guy as hard as he could in the ribs finally freeing himself. He whirled around to face the guy, fighting off the dizziness and the pain in his jaw and abdomen. He heard Lucas throwing down with the big guy and he desperately wanted to help his brother out, but first, he had to deal with this guy._

_The guy recovered and lashed out with a right hook but Nathan saw it coming and evaded. He immediately responded with a right hook of his own and caught the guy squarely in the cheek. The thug's head snapped to the side, but within a second, he bounced back. The guy charged, but once again, Nathan predicted it. He side-stepped, grabbed the guy by the jacket, and used his momentum to send him careening into a nearby bar-top. The guy crumpled to the ground, grabbing his head in obvious pain. Finally, he was out of the fight._

_Nathan immediately dismissed him and turned around to search out Lucas…_

…_just in time to see him crash through the front window, courtesy of the brute. _

_For a moment, time stopped. There was no sound, no movement, no thought; just the cold, icy reality of his brother's body hitting the pavement amidst a shower of glass._

_And then time seemed to resume. A couple of female patrons shrieked, somebody shouted for someone to call 911, and Nathan took off toward his brother, ignoring the brute still standing near the shattered window and the slack-eyed spectators._

_When he reached Lucas, he was laying face-up on the sidewalk within a mess of glass shards. His eyes were open and moving and Nathan felt knee-weakening relief at the sight of him still conscious. _

_It was short-lived._

"_Luke!" he called out to his brother as he kneeled down beside him. "Oh my God, Luke, are you okay? Talk to me!"_

"_Nate…" Lucas rasped, his voice raw and strained. "I…I can't feel my legs…"_

_Nathan's stomach dropped at that. "What?"_

"_I can't feel my legs," Lucas repeated, voice now tinged with alarm._

_Gently, hands shaking like mad, Nathan lifted his brother slightly off the ground. And that's when he saw it: a jagged shard of glass, caked in blood, protruding out of Lucas's back._

_Nathan's head swam; terror, despair, self-loathing, all rolled into a dark miasma of emotions. Lucas was paralyzed, he knew without a doubt, and it was all Nathan's fault. This couldn't be happening._

"_Help!" he heard himself shout at the top of his lungs. "Somebody!"_

_Nathan no longer knew rationality or reason; all he knew now was anguish._

_

* * *

_Peyton felt a warm wetness on her cheeks as the broken man in front of her finished speaking. Nathan's hands obscured his face, but from the way his shoulders shook, she was pretty sure he was crying quietly. The sight of it shook her.

Nathan, like Lucas, wasn't really a big crier. The only other times Peyton had ever witnessed Nathan shed tears had been when Haley had been in the hospital after being hit by a car, and the day his son had been born. Seeing him this distraught was breaking Peyton's heart, but not nearly as much as the thought of what Lucas had endured.

She felt no anger or resentment toward Nathan. All her feelings, all her thoughts, were reserved for his brother. And any anger that was in her was directed at the low-life that had hurt Lucas. She'd give anything to get her hands on the thug that had done this. Mostly, though, she wished she could've been there for Lucas.

"Oh Nathan…" Brooke whispered.

Peyton exchanged looks with the brunette. Without a word, the two rose and perched themselves on either side of the loveseat, sandwiching Nathan between them. Nathan attempted to pull away at first, probably feeling that he didn't deserve comfort, but eventually he relented and gently rested his head on Brooke's shoulder. Peyton, in the meantime, braced the ex-Raven firmly with her arms, slowly stroking his back. Secretly, she wished she was holding another, blonder Scott-brother in her arms.

For right now, though, she was content in helping the man who was like a brother to her.

"Nate, it wasn't your fault," Brooke soothed.

"Of course it was," he muttered.

"You made a mistake going back in there to confront that guy, but you couldn't have known what would happen," Peyton said. "You weren't the one that threw Luke through that window."

"Yeah, but it never would've happened if I hadn't punched that guy," he lamented. "I am to blame."

Peyton looked at Brooke helplessly. This Nathan was a shell of his former self. Even back when the whole point-shaving scandal surfaced, he'd never really broken down like this. He'd put one foot forward and slowly managed to climb out of the pit he'd found himself in.

But this was different.

"Nathan…" Peyton began, but he cut her off.

"You know…I'm playing for the Chiefs because that's what Luke wanted, and because I don't want to let Haley and Jamie down," he quietly explained. "At least not more than I already have."

If Peyton's heart had broken for him before, it shattered into a million pieces now. She'd never seen him so openly vulnerable before, and it struck her just how hard all this stuff must've been pressing down on him for it to get to this point. Still, she remained silent, sensing he wasn't finished unloading his burden.

"Every time I step out onto that court, I know I don't deserve to be there. I'm out there chasing my dream while my brother is crippled and in pain. How is that right? Especially when I'm the reason he's like that."

Peyton knew there was nothing either she or Brooke could say to convince him otherwise; they could only listen, but God, it was killing her to hear him go on like this. And yet still, she could tell there was more coming.

"Since I was old enough to hold a ball, my dream was to play in the NBA. When I lost my scholarship to Duke, I thought it was all over. But then Whitey gave me a chance to play at Gilmore, and all the sudden, that dream was attainable again. And even though the Sonics passed me up, I'm on a winning team now and at any time, I could get called up to the NBA. I'm so close to my dream, but instead of feeling excited, all I feel is dread. Because I always pictured Lucas standing next to me and Haley and Jamie when it happened, and now…and now he can't even stand to be around me."

"I don't believe that for a second," Peyton stated firmly. "I'm sure Lucas doesn't hate you."

"He hasn't said it, but I think deep down, he does." Nathan sat up straight and wiped his eyes with his forearm. He seemed to have regained his composure, but his eyes were still red and blotchy. He rose from the loveseat and tipped his head backwards slightly before letting out a pent-up breath. "Sorry about this, guys. I didn't mean to dump all this on you. I just wanted you both to know what happened."

Peyton stood up, placing a hand on his shoulder. "No, don't apologize. You probably just pent things up too long. I'm the same way."

Nathan turned and gave her a small smile. "Yeah. I've just been trying to be strong for Haley, and I guess I let the pressure build."

"Well, stop," Brooke reprimanded, rising from her position on the loveseat. "It's not healthy and she's your wife. Talk to her."

Nathan nodded. "Yeah, your right."

There was silence for a minute as Nathan finished gathering himself. Peyton practically burned with questions, but she wanted to give Nathan some time to recover. Brooke seemed to have the same idea and offered to make coffee.

The three of them adjourned to the kitchen counter, and while the coffee maker gurgled, they made small talk. It was mostly about Jamie, and how big he was and how much he was turning out to be like a miniature version of Lucas. Brooke gushed over every word about her godchild and practically begged to see pictures which Nathan produced from his wallet.

While Brooke cooed over the photos, Peyton filled Nathan in on her own life in L.A. Pretty soon, the three were chatting like old times. It was almost as if it really was just three old friends catching up, and the three years of virtual estrangement hadn't happened. No one had gotten thrown through a glass window and Lucas wasn't wheelchair-bound.

But that wasn't reality, and when the coffee was ready, Peyton knew there were still difficult things that needed to be discussed. With her mug in hand, she and Brooke returned to their spots on the couch while Nathan reclaimed the loveseat. For awhile, nobody spoke.

It took a few gulps of coffee before Peyton gathered the nerve to voice her next question. She was afraid to hear the answer, but it was better than not knowing.

"Will he ever walk again?"

Nathan didn't meet her eyes. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the liquid in his mug. She took that as a bad sign.

"I don't know," he finally responded. "The doctor said he might if he stuck to his therapy, but that was three months ago. I've heard from Skillz that Luke can wiggle his toes and even stand for a few seconds, but it might be another three months before we know for sure."

"And he has stuck to his therapy, right?" Brooke asked.

"As far as I know," Nathan shrugged. "Haley and I have done a lot of our own research on spinal injuries and paralysis, but there's just so much information and every case is different. It could go either way for Lucas."

Peyton couldn't imagine what that would be like: stuck in a wheelchair, hours of painful rehab, and not even knowing whether it would do any good. It would be torture. It probably was torture for Lucas.

"Is…is he in pain?" The quiver in her voice didn't go unnoticed.

"I don't really know for sure," Nathan said, shaking his head. "Skillz says his back is constantly giving him problems, but I don't know how bad it is. Neither does Skillz. Even if Luke was in pain, he wouldn't tell anyone."

No, no he wouldn't. Peyton wanted to jump into her car and race over to Lucas's right now. She wanted to hold him in her arms and tell him it was all going to be okay, just like he'd done for her countless times in the past. She couldn't do that, though.

It was all too much. Her powerlessness made her want to scream at the top of her lungs and tear at her hair. She was furious that something like this had even happened to Lucas in the first place. It brought back some of her old cynicism about the world and people in general; that some lowlife would have the nerve to hurt someone as good and kind as Lucas.

Nathan stood up. "I should be going. I don't want Haley to worry and it's almost Jamie's bed time. He doesn't like it if I'm not there to help tuck him in."

"It was so good to see you again, Nate," Brooke said as she hugged him. "Give Jamie a kiss for me."

"I will," Nathan assured her, chuckling.

Peyton stepped up for a hug next, and as Nathan wrapped her up in his arms, he leaned down and whispered in her ear.

"Don't give up on him."

Peyton understood instantly, and as she pulled away, she silently thanked him with her eyes. "Take care, Nate, and stay in touch."

He nodded. "I promise."

After Nathan had departed, Brooke had asked if she wanted to talk, but Peyton was exhausted and still somewhat numb so she'd opted to turn in. She thanked the brunette and told her she'd see her in the morning.

On her bed, she sat, staring at the bound copy of Lucas's book. Nathan's words echoed in her mind.

'_Don't give up on him_.'

No, she wouldn't. She was not going to give up on Lucas for anything and she'd fight tooth and nail to make sure he didn't give up on himself. She might've finally stumbled onto that second chance she'd been hoping and praying for all these years.

Peyton would be damned if she'd let it slip through her fingers.

* * *

Sunday morning brought Lucas out to the cemetery.

Wheel-rim crunched grass and soil as Lucas maneuvered his chair through the maze of headstones. Rays of sunshine spackled the ground and anointed many of the stone markers, as if God were going out of His way to remind those that still lived and breathed of the many that no longer did.

The morning air was slightly humid and a subtle breeze occasionally made the leaves and branches of the trees shiver. Most of the cemetery was open land but some gravestones were sequestered beneath the canopies of oak trees and cypresses.

One such gravestone was his Uncle Keith's. It stood a few feet in front of a medium-sized oak, like a statue posted in front of a temple. Lucas approached the headstone gingerly, almost cautiously. He kind of felt like he was trespassing on sacred ground. It sounded a little ridiculous, but this was the first time he'd come to visit Keith's grave in months and he felt he had no right to be here.

The headstone itself was visibly weathered; the granite was faded in certain places, as were portions of the inscription. Dead leaves and small twigs rested both on and around the stone and it was in bad need of washing. It really had been too long since he'd been here.

Lucas had stayed away for the past few months mainly because he hadn't felt worthy of being here. He hadn't been the man Keith had wanted him to be. Shame had kept him from visiting. But that was over now. No more excuses.

Lucas used his hands to brush off the leaves and twigs. From a nearby spigot, he filled a plastic bucket he'd brought with him with water and rinsed the stone off. When he was done, the headstone didn't exactly look like new, but it was certainly a lot more presentable than it had been before. Hanging the bucket back up on one of the racks on his chair, Lucas surveyed the grave marker.

"Hey Keith," he said. "I know it's been a long time and I'm sorry for that. I haven't been myself lately, though I'm sure you already know all about it."

He paused as a lump formed in his throat; a lump of pure shame. Skillz wouldn't return his calls and he didn't blame the guy. Lucas had treated him like dirt; he'd treated everyone he loved and cared about like dirt. Nathan, Haley, Skillz, his mother, and worst of all, Peyton. None of them had deserved the abuse he'd heaped on them and he wanted nothing more than to take it all back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered roughly. He wasn't just apologizing to Keith. He was apologizing for what he'd become.

The sound of footballs behind him alerted Lucas to the presence of another person. He figured it was someone that had come to pay their respects, but when he turned himself around, he came face-to-face with an angel that had descended from Heaven.

This angel had dark-blonde hair arrayed in soft, slightly longish curls; a pair of mesmerizing green eyes that held a look of curiosity in them; and was sporting a pair of light-blue jeans that hugged her hips perfectly and accented her insanely long legs and a sleeveless Clothes Over Bros top.

For an instant, Lucas wondered if he was dreaming. But when the angel spoke, he knew he was wide-awake.

"Luke?"

"Peyton," he breathed. The way his name had passed through her lips gave him light chills. She may not have been a literal angel, but standing there, her bronze skin bathed in sunlight and her golden locks flowing and radiant, she was as close to being one as possible, to Lucas anyway.

And he wanted to kiss the crap out of her. There were a number of things preventing him from doing that, least of all his current disadvantage in height, but he definitely wanted to.

She stepped forward hesitantly. "Hey," she greeted shyly.

"Hey," he echoed, slightly bewildered.

It was different this time. He no longer felt ashamed of her seeing him in a wheelchair. He remembered their last encounter and he burned with guilt.

"I'm sorry," Lucas blurted out as he wheeled himself forward slightly. Peyton looked taken back. "About the other day, I'm really sorry for the way I acted. I had no right to treat you like that."

She shook her head. "Luke, it's okay. You don't have to apologize."

"No, I really do," he corrected her. "Seeing you again after so long, it really threw me and I didn't know how to react, but it shouldn't have been that way."

"No, God Luke, after everything that happened to you, you're entitled to it. I'd be the same way," she said. "I'm sorry I just showed up out of the blue like that."

She knew. Somehow, Peyton knew about everything. Lucas could tell by the way she was looking at him. Was it uncanny that he could still read her so well?

"You know, don't you," he stated with certainty. "About what happened."

Peyton looked down, and he had his answer.

"Nathan stopped by the other night and told me and Brooke about the accident," she explained.

That took him by surprise. Aside from himself, Nathan was the last person Lucas would ever expect to talk so openly about The Incident. "Wow, that's…I wouldn't have expected that."

"Well, Brooke and I called Haley and we kind of put her through the ringer," she admitted guiltily. "Nathan showed up that night and we talked about everything. You're not mad, are you?"

"No! No, I'm not," he assured her. That was the truth, he wasn't upset. He was actually relieved that he wasn't the one that had to explain everything.

She looked relieved. "Good. I don't want to make things…I mean…"

"Peyton," he interrupted. She stopped rambling and looked down, a faint redness blossoming in her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, I still ramble from time-to-time."

Lucas couldn't help but smile. She was adorable and he couldn't ignore the butterflies in his stomach. But then he remembered the way they'd left things in L.A. three years ago and suddenly, those butterflies made his stomach sour.

A strong breeze ruffled the grass and the tree branches. Lucas looked away and he saw Peyton do the same. The awkwardness had reared its ugly head. He didn't know what to say and he didn't know what he wanted to hear. It was always going to be there between them, and it was still there now, even after years of separation; that underlying tension and that solid connection that seemed to have endless elasticity.

Peyton, thankfully, shattered the unbearable silence. "So, you were visiting Keith, huh?"

"Yeah," he replied. He couldn't take his eyes off of her curls and the way they fluttered in the breeze. "Were you…?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "It's been too long."

"Same here."

Another awkward silence. This was agony. A part of Lucas wanted to open the floodgates and tell her everything about how he was feeling, but the part that wanted to keep her at a safe distance kept the gates clamped shut. Still, he wasn't sure he wanted to be away from her just yet.

"Listen Luke," she began. "Would you maybe want to…?"

"Go for some coffee?" he finished for her. The surprised expression on her face was almost comical. Lucas was just as surprised as she was. "I'd love to."

Seriously, he had no control over what was coming out of his mouth. When he saw her face light up, he couldn't help but be glad his tongue had gotten away from him.

They ended up at a small café on Main Street. It was nowhere near as grandiose as his mother's café had been, but it did serve respectable coffee. They sat at a small table by the window (well, she sat, he just parked his chair) and sipped java and they just talked.

Nothing serious, of course, just small, casual things. He learned all about her job at Sire Records. It was kind of hard to hear her talk about the job that had played an instrumental part in their separation. Lucas knew that was unfair, but that was how he felt. He let her go on because he wanted to know everything about her life and what she'd been doing for the past few years.

More accurately, he wanted to know who she'd been with for the past few years.

She told him amusing anecdotes about her time as assistant-to-the-assistant and her dealings with the infamous Brett Bass. She laughed about all of it, but within every laugh, Lucas detected traces of melancholy. She looked worn, almost as if Los Angeles had suctioned some of her soul away, and that very notion made his heart twist.

She told him how she'd gotten fed up with it all and decided to quit. In spite of everything that had happened between them, Lucas still knew her well enough to guess that she probably felt like a failure and that she hadn't been able to make something of herself.

Ridiculous, of course, but Peyton was stubborn and she'd always doubted herself way too much. Lucas wanted more than anything to reassure her that she wasn't a failure and that she'd always been meant for more than what L.A. had offered her, but he couldn't find the words.

Maybe it was because he'd used them all up when he'd tried to convince her to marry him.

"So what about you?" she inquired after taking a sip of coffee. "Aren't you a world-famous novelist by now?"

"Hardly." Telling her the truth was out of the question, so he'd just have to lie. "All of the publishers you sent copies to turned it down. I didn't bother sending out anymore. It wasn't meant to be."

"Oh." The sadness and the sympathy in her eyes was too much to look at. He turned his attention to the window in order to escape her gaze. She didn't say anything else about the matter and he was thankful she still knew him enough to catch on that he didn't want to talk about it.

He turned away from the window and back to Peyton. "So what's next for you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It's great to be back here but I have no clue what I'm going to do. Brooke's letting me stay with her rent-free, but I feel bad about mooching off her."

"I'm sure she doesn't see it that way."

"No," she laughed. "But I do. Anyway, what about you? You coaching the Ravens?"

"Not exactly. I work at the shop Keith used to own, which is bigger now and under new management. Of course, thanks to this chair I'm on desk-duty, but I still get regular pay," he explained.

Peyton furrowed her brow. "I thought you wanted to coach the Ravens?"

"Yeah well, you need a college degree to coach a highschool basketball team, and I don't have one."

"What?"

He shrugged. "College just wasn't for me, so I dropped out."

She looked at him as though he'd grown a second head. He was used to it. He'd gotten a lot of looks like that after he'd been expelled from Gilmore. Lucas wasn't about to tell her that, though. He couldn't exactly explain to her that the reason he'd gotten kicked out was because he'd tanked all his classes and finals. Or that the reason he tanked said classes and finals was because he'd been so heartbroken by their break-up that he'd barely found the will to get out of bed each day, let alone focus on his studies. No, it definitely wouldn't go over well if he said all that.

He felt like shit for lying to her but he wasn't ready to be honest. Plus, there was still a lot of bitterness in his heart and a part of him felt she didn't deserve to know the truth. Sometime down the road, he'd come clean with her, but not today.

A pregnant silence descended over them.

* * *

Peyton desperately searched for something to say, something that would alleviate this oppressive hush, but she came up with nothing.

She never would've imagined she'd actually be sitting here in front of Lucas like this, sipping coffee and just talking. It wasn't like old times, but they were on better ground than they had been two days ago when she'd run into him in front of the music store. That had to mean something.

All yesterday, she'd done little else than hole up in her room and draw. With music as her only companion, and occasionally Brooke, who would check up on her, she'd sketched practically all day until her wrists had ached and her fingers had become raw. They'd been pictures of her past, mostly of Lucas. They had reflected a time when things had been simpler and the distance between her and Luke hadn't been so vast.

This morning, after she'd gotten up, she'd decided she needed to go and visit her mother's grave. She hadn't expected to run into Lucas; she hadn't expected him to actually have a cordial conversation with her; and she certainly hadn't expected him to agree to have coffee with her.

Most of all, she hadn't expected him to still look so good, even if he was broken. He was gaunt, pale, and his hair was a mess. There were dark circles under his eyes and he sported a few days worth of beard-stubble.

In spite of all that, she _wanted_ him.

Peyton wanted to touch him and comfort him in every sense of the word. She wanted him to take her in his arms and crash his lips onto hers. She wanted to rip that lost and hopeless look out of his eyes and restore their brilliant blue luster. She wanted to see him walk again.

But what could she do? Though her heart ached for him, it also bore the scars he'd inflicted back in that hotel room. Anger and resentment dwelled inside her over the fact that he'd given up on her and their love. That the boy she'd waited so long to be with had refused to wait for her. And that the same boy who promised to never leave her had done just that.

To be fair, she'd told him to leave, but she'd never meant for him to leave for good. She'd spent who knows how long waiting for him to call or even text her. He never did.

Her tears, the endless tears she'd ended up shedding alone in her apartment, had eventually given way to rage which had then crystallized into an icy-cold hurt that had frozen her core. Her time with Julian had helped thaw it somewhat, but she was still frostbitten.

Peyton wanted to tell him all of that. She wanted to make him see how much pain he'd caused her and she wanted to yell and scream at him for causing it, but she bottled it up instead. Now was not the time. She would wait until he was better and then she would confront him about everything.

Mostly, she just wanted him to be better because she couldn't stand seeing him like this.

For awhile, neither of them said anything. Residual chatter from other patrons floated around her, and Peyton watched as pedestrians strolled by the café window. Her cup was empty and it looked like Lucas had lost interest in his drink. Now was the time to ask the question that had been on the tip of her tongue the whole time.

"Luke, how's your rehab going?"

It was a daring thing to ask. Peyton didn't know how he would react or if he would tell her to mind her own business, but she had to at least try.

Lucas was aimlessly stirring the remaining contents of his coffee cup and didn't even look up when he answered. "Okay, I guess."

Which meant it probably wasn't going good at all.

"Do you do it every day?" she questioned further.

He shook his head. "Twice a week. Mondays and Thursdays. Though I try and do a lot on my own at home."

She nodded. "So you're scheduled for tomorrow?"

"No," he said. "I was supposed to be but I won't to be able to make it."

"Why not?" she asked. "Haley said that Skillz takes you. Is he busy or something?"

His demeanor changed and it seemed like she'd struck a nerve.

"Skillz's uncle died," he told her. "The funeral's tomorrow evening."

"Oh God, that's terrible," Peyton gasped. She hadn't even known Skillz had had an uncle. She made a mental note to get in touch with him later.

"Yeah, so I'm pretty much out of a ride."

Peyton suspected that there was more to it than that. There was something that Lucas wasn't telling her, but she wasn't going to push it. A radical idea was forming in her head. It was completely reckless, but it made sense.

"Luke," she began hesitantly. "I could take you if you want."

He looked up at her in surprise. His mouth opened slightly, then closed, then opened again. It would've been funny in other circumstances.

"You don't have to do that," he said.

Peyton reached forward and rested her hand on his. A mistake, since it sent a bolt of electricity surging through her body and left her craving for more. "Luke, I want to do it."

His gaze pierced her and she pulled her hand away from his. The sudden loss of contact left her feeling cold, but she wanted to give him space to consider her offer. It was crazy. She'd only been back for a few days and they'd only just had a proper conversation for the first time in years.

But she didn't want him to miss his therapy. She vowed she would do everything in her power to help him and she wasn't going to break that vow.

"Okay," he finally replied.

_Okay_.

Peyton's heart sped up and butterflies danced in her stomach. This was a great start. They'd take it step-by-step. Whatever 'this' was.

She didn't know why she was suddenly nervous. She was just driving him to his rehab session.

What could go wrong?

**~Chapter Ten End**


	11. Storm Center

**A/N:** Hey everyone, sorry for the wait, but this chapter was long like the last one and it took me awhile to write it.

bendecida: Yeah, you're right, unfortunately. The amount of Leyton fics being written has definitely slowed down to a trickle, but there really isn't much you can do about it. If you're feeling blocked up, I recommend breaking out the DVD sets and just start marathon-ing through the show from the beginning in your spare time. I just started doing it recently and it's done wonders for my creative flow. Stay strong.;)

TheCreativeOne: I don't know about that. I've got a loooooooong way to go before I can think about turning pro. I'm still an amateur, but I really appreciate you saying that.

Anyway, I'm hoping the next chapter will come along a lot quicker. We'll see.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Storm Center**

"Oh. My. God!" Brooke screeched. Peyton was certain several of the distant neighbors must have covered their ears in pain.

"Brooke…" she pleaded.

"This is huge!" Brooke squealed even louder than before.

"It's not that big of a deal," Peyton told her.

Lie. Of course it was a big deal. Tomorrow evening, she'd be taking Lucas to his rehab session. It would be just the two of them in the car and she'd bear witness to his very personal struggle to regain the use of his legs. It certainly wasn't a small deal. She just didn't want Brooke to get any more wound up.

"Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer!" the brunette reprimanded. "You are not allowed to downplay this! I mean, it's your second date."

Peyton gaped at her. "Brooke, it's not a date! And we never had a first one."

"Uh, hello, coffee?"

Peyton shook her head. "That wasn't a date, it was just two old friends catching up."

Another lie, but she needed to derail Brooke before she got carried away. Judging by the disbelieving look the brunette sported, it was too late.

"Yeah, right, I totally believe you."

Peyton groaned and threw her hands up. There was no winning with her.

"Brooke, I'm taking him to physical therapy not dinner."

"No, no!" Brooke refuted. "This isn't just physical therapy for Lucas, it's therapy for you guys, too."

"Huh?" was all Peyton could utter.

"Oh come on, P. Don't try and tell me that you haven't been thinking about trying to get him back this whole time."

Peyton felt her cheeks burn and imagined she must've looked like a deer suspended in headlights at that moment. Even so, she couldn't resist the compulsion to deny what Brooke had said.

"Don't be ridiculous, Brooke."

Brooke rolled her eyes. "Oh please. You've had your Lucas-stealing face on since the moment your plane touched down."

"What? I don't have a Lucas-stealing face," Peyton retorted indignantly.

"Umm, yeah you do," Brooke shot back sarcastically. "I would know, I've seen it before."

Peyton looked away. An old guilt bubbled in her stomach, but she squashed it. Water under the bridge four years ago, and she already had enough on her mind. Her whatever-it-was with Lucas this afternoon had left her feeling completely off-balance.

Being in such close proximity to him, talking to him, hearing his voice after all this time; it'd been jarring, and exciting, and terrifying, and intoxicating all at once. She desperately wanted to be around him and yet she also had the urge to avoid him. It was like she was being ripped in half.

Whatever the case, she'd pledged to herself that she would help him in any way possible. Peyton would drive him to his appointment tomorrow, and to hell with any personal reservations she had about it.

"Look," she said to Brooke. "It doesn't matter. What does matter is that Lucas gets better and since Skillz can't take him, I have to."

"You don't have to do it," Brooke told her. "You could've just asked me and I would've taken him, but you want to be the one that does it. Otherwise, why would you have offered? You may be able to fool yourself, P. Sawyer, but you can't fool me."

Peyton sighed as she crossed her arms and leaned up against the counter. Brooke approached her, a worried look in her chocolate-brown eyes. Her best friend had hit on everything pretty accurately. But Peyton felt that if she admitted all that to herself, she would inevitably have to face it, and she didn't think her heart was in any condition for that.

"This is all so screwed up, Brooke," she lamented. "I mean, in three days, I went from not seeing Lucas for three years, to finding out he's in a wheelchair, and now I'm going to be driving him to his doctor's appointment. Everything is happening so fast, and I just don't know what to do or how to feel."

Brooke placed a comforting hand on her elbow as she vented. "Well, how do you feel?"

"Confused," Peyton said. "God, there's so much stuff between us and so much we haven't talked about, plus there was the way we left things. I have so many things I want to say to him and thousands of questions I want to know the answers to, but I can't, not when he's struggling with his injury."

"Who says you can't? Maybe what he needs to snap him out of his funk is a little trip down memory lane," Brooke reasoned.

"I don't think it's that simple, Brooke," said Peyton. "You didn't see how much pain he was in. I don't want to ambush him with all of this baggage."

"I say, ambush away," Brooke asserted. "You guys are Lucas and Peyton, and if anyone can heal his pain, it's you."

Peyton shook her head. "He's not the same person he used to be, and neither am I. It's not high school anymore."

"No, it isn't," Brooke acknowledged. "But you guys have this creepy, unspoken connection that no one understands. The fact that he can still have this kind of effect on you even after three whole years without any contact proves it."

Peyton looked at her best friend. Proof-positive that wisdom could come in the unlikeliest of forms, because the brunette was dead-on about everything. That still didn't change the fact that Peyton was scared to death of confronting her past with Lucas.

But she knew she had to eventually. Maybe once he finished his therapy, she could try and talk to him about it.

"Okay, that's enough angst for one evening," Brooke declared, clapping her hands together. She took hold of Peyton's hand and began to drag her off with her. "C'mon."

"Where are we going?" she asked, puzzled.

"To pick out something for you to wear. Something that will really wow Luke," the brunette explained with an almost manic glee.

"Joy," Peyton exclaimed sarcastically.

"See, sarcasm!" Brooke pointed out. "Maybe you haven't changed as much as you thought."

"I just hope Lucas hasn't, either."

* * *

Lucas was no psychologist, but he wondered if he qualified as a masochist.

Agreeing to have Peyton drive him to his rehab session seemed like a form of self-punishment. A creative way to inflict pain on himself in large quantities. Then again, it also felt like he was gearing up to taste the forbidden fruit. The idea of being trapped with Peyton in the car for the fifteen-to-twenty minute ride to and from Wilmington was as thrilling as it was terrifying.

So maybe he wasn't a masochist but instead a thrill-seeker. Like those people that chased tornadoes, tempting fate by getting as close to nature's overwhelming wrath as possible, risking death in the process. Having been witness to Peyton's wrath only a few times in the past, the tornado might actually be the safer choice.

He was still reeling from their encounter yesterday. He'd gotten no sleep last night and at times it had all felt like a dream to Lucas. Running into Peyton at the cemetery, having coffee with her, her offering to drive him to therapy and him accepting: it all seemed so whimsical now.

But it had happened, and in a few minutes, she would be here in person to pick him up. After getting home from work, he'd bathed and then spent the next hour sorting through different shirts before he'd settled on a white long-sleeved shirt with a button-up collar.

He had no clue why he'd been so neurotic about it. Who cared what he wore? It was just physical therapy, not a black-tie event. Lucas couldn't help but think that he'd unconsciously done it for Peyton, which was crazy. This was the farthest thing from a date. In fact, he shouldn't even be thinking about her in that way.

He was crippled and in a wheelchair and faced with the possibility of never walking again, and there was so much pain and hurt feelings between them. He didn't really know if Peyton was back for good or just hanging around until she got another job offer in L.A., or if she was with someone or not.

Lucas couldn't deny it: seeing her again just reinforced the fact that he was still in love with her, but he'd learned the hard way that love wasn't enough. He wasn't about to try and pursue something with her just to get burned again. Besides, he hadn't been anywhere near a woman in a romantic capacity for three years. He was way out of practice. He'd just screw it up if he tried.

No, he had to keep his treacherous heart at bay. Easier said than done, though.

Gathering his things, Lucas exited his house through the back door. Crossing through the garage, he made his way outside and to the front yard. The sun was half-way gone and there was a mild chill in the air.

As Lucas settled himself in the yard, facing the street so he could spot Peyton coming, he couldn't help but wonder about Skillz. The funeral for his uncle was probably long over by now. He'd seriously considered postponing his appointment with Dr. Capshaw so he could attend, but he'd decided against it.

For one thing, the last Lucas had heard, Skillz's Uncle Russell had lived in Jersey. He had no idea where the services would've been held and no way of finding out since Skillz had been ignoring all his attempts at communication.

Besides that, it would've seemed crass to crash the funeral services after everything that had gone down between him and Skillz. His friend might've ended up thinking Lucas was there out of guilt. So he decided he'd wait a few days and then visit Skillz personally. Lucas knew he had a lot to make up for, but he was willing to do everything it took.

He vowed the same thing when it came to Nathan, Haley, and his mother. He had to start being a better person, otherwise he would end up like Dan, and Lucas would blow his own head off before that happened.

In the distance, Lucas saw a vehicle approaching. A dark silver BMW SUV pulled up in front of the house and, as it coasted to a stop, he was surprised to see Peyton behind the wheel. Had she sold the Comet and traded up? She'd still been driving it when he'd first seen her the other day. Maybe the engine had finally given out, or maybe she'd just gotten tired of it.

Despair filled him at the thought. It was stupid to get sentimental over a car that wasn't even his, but for some reason, the thought of the Comet rotting away in a scrap heap or being owned and driven by someone other than Peyton saddened him to the core.

The driver's side door of the Beamer opened and closed as Peyton stepped out. When she came around the front of the vehicle and into full view, Lucas's breath hitched. She was decked out in a white and black sundress that hugged her curves flawlessly. The flowing silky material came down only slightly above her knees, giving him a great view of her lower legs. She had on a light-brown jacket with the sleeves rolled up, showing off her delicate forearms, and a Clothes Over Bros handbag slung around her left shoulder.

Bathed in twilight, dark-blonde curls fluttering slightly in the breeze, Peyton was nothing short of a vision.

"Hey," she greeted, somewhat shyly. She crossed her right arm over her abdomen and rested her hand on her left elbow. It was a sure sign that she was nervous.

"Hey," he returned. "I guess you traded up, huh?"

She looked at him quizzically for a second, and then she realized he was talking about the BMW. "Oh no, this is Brooke's, I'm just borrowing it. It has more room, you know, for your wheelchair."

He nodded. "Ah, I get it. Thanks." He felt a little warm tingle in his stomach for some reason. He had to admit, he liked that she'd thought of that. Plus it probably meant she still had the Comet.

"Oh, it's no problem. Brooke doesn't mind and I want to make this as easy on you as possible." She lowered her gaze slightly. Lucas was seized by the overwhelming urge to kiss her, and he cursed his lack of self-control.

He cleared his throat, trying to banish any carnal thoughts he had of Peyton. "So, I guess we should get going."

"Oh, right!" Peyton scrambled to open the passenger-side door as Lucas wheeled himself toward the vehicle.

He found it a bit easier to transfer himself from the chair into the car this time. Peyton had nervously inched forward a few times, seemingly prepared to catch him if he fell. The pensive look on her face gave her apprehension away. She wasn't used to this, so Lucas could understand it.

After getting situated in the passenger seat, he showed her how to fold the chair up. It took her a few tries, but she got it eventually, and placed it in the back seat. She circled back around the car, and, as she climbed in behind the wheel, her dress hiked up slightly and Lucas caught a brief glimpse of her toned and tanned legs.

He silently gulped. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that she was deliberately trying to tempt him.

"Ready to go?" Her voice was soft, and to Lucas, somewhat alluring. As she buckled in, he couldn't help but notice her cleavage.

"Yeah," he replied thickly. He ripped his gaze off of her and tried to focus on the road ahead of him, or on the scenery around him, or anything at all that wasn't Peyton.

She put the car in gear and then they were off. For the next several minutes, there was no conversation other than him giving directions. From the radio, Matt Nathanson sung 'Come on, get higher' and Lucas mused at how familiar the set-up was. Once upon a time, this was how he and Peyton used to be. A perfect silence between them with music playing in the background, sometimes with him reading and her drawing. Those silences were never uncomfortable.

Until now.

Now, there was a proverbial eight-hundred pound gorilla hovering over them and the tension was suffocating. He occasionally snuck sideway glances at her and she did the same when she thought he wasn't looking her way. From the minute she'd gotten into the car, he'd been feeling a not unpleasant warmth and an uncomfortable tightness. Each whiff of her shampoo he took in made him increasingly antsy.

Lucas hadn't felt this way in three years, especially not after his accident. His brain was assaulted by a torrent of images of him kissing her and doing much more, and he couldn't stamp it down. Some of those images were memories, others fantasies, and they were all swimming together in one massive collage.

As they entered Wilmington, Lucas was suddenly struck by the feeling that something was going to happen tonight. He had no idea what, but it scared the hell out of him.

As she drove, Peyton cycled over a dozen potential conversation-starters through her head, but couldn't find the courage to voice any of them. They all sounded too intrusive or too inappropriate to her, so she kept her mouth shut, silently hoping that Lucas would take the initiative. Instead, all that came out of his mouth was directions, and the radio ended up being the only sound in the car.

She caught him sneaking peaks at her and she was pretty sure he wasn't oblivious to her doing the same thing. Peyton wanted to scream. She wanted to yell at him to say something and she wanted to yell at him for just about everything that had happened between them in L.A. three years ago.

And then she really wanted to kiss him, and probably more if the gentle heat between her legs was any indication. Oh, hell, she supposed there was no point in denying it anymore: she wanted Lucas. She still loved him, and she wanted to know that he still loved her, too.

But he probably didn't. And besides, he'd hurt her, and she didn't think she could risk feeling pain like that again. Lucas was hurt, too, in a more literal sense, and the most important thing now was his recovery, not their issues.

It was almost six-thirty when Peyton pulled the BMW into the parking lot of St. Bethany's Medical Center. She'd Googled the place last night, and apparently, it was a treatment center that specialized in spinal injuries and physical therapy for the lower body. She navigated the aisles of the brightly lit lot until she found an open space and pulled in.

"Just give me a second and I'll be right with you," she told Lucas, her fingers disengaging her belt-buckle.

He nodded. "Okay."

She opened the door and stepped out of the SUV, her sandals meeting hard pavement. The sun had retreated and the night air was chilly. Peyton tugged at the collar of her jacket before reaching back into the car and grabbing her handbag. After slinging the bag across her shoulder, she shut the door and walked around to the rear passenger-side door where she retrieved Lucas's wheelchair.

With a bit of fumbling, she unfolded it and set it down just as Lucas opened his door. She rolled the chair over to him and locked the wheels, and then she stood back. Peyton almost had to physically restrain herself from reaching out and grabbing him as he struggled out of the passenger seat and into the chair. She knew Lucas wouldn't want her to help him, but she still feared he might take a spill. He didn't, though, and he successfully deposited himself into the chair without incident.

Lucas shut the open door after which Peyton locked the BMW, and the two proceeded toward the building's entrance. When the sliding glass doors parted for them, Peyton squinted her eyes at the bright white light that saturated the reception lounge. That pervasive anti-septic smell that all hospitals and doctor's offices seemed to have assaulted her nostrils and she scrunched her nose in disgust. The lounge was occupied by a desk manned by a nurse and four rows of uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs. At the end of each row was a small table messily stacked with magazines that were probably months out of date.

As Lucas went up to the front desk to speak with the attending nurse, Peyton let her eyes roam around the room some more. There were only two other people occupying the lounge; a frail old woman clutching a paperback in her talon-like hands and a middle-aged guy slumped back in his chair, napping. The garish and cheap paintings that adorned the walls were as depressing as the vomit-inducing wallpaper. Peyton felt as though the life were being sucked right out of her simply from standing in this place.

"Peyt?" She was startled out of her musings by the sound of Lucas's voice. And by the fact that he'd called her 'Peyt.'

"Huh?" she uttered, meeting Lucas's eyes.

"They're ready for me," he told her. "Look, thanks for driving me, but you don't have to come up. You can wait here if you want."

What did that mean? He'd just called her by the shortened version of her name, something he hadn't done since they'd been together, and now he was pushing her away. Or maybe she was just reading too much into it. "No, that's okay, I don't mind coming up with you."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Unless…" The possibility that he didn't want her there hurt. "Unless you don't want me there, and that's okay Luke, I get it…"

"No! No! That's not it," he stated firmly. "I just didn't want you to be uncomfortable. You'll probably just end up standing around for thirty minutes while I do my exercises. It can be pretty boring and I figured you could pass the time better out here. Skillz always does."

Lucas seemed genuinely concerned about her and Peyton suddenly felt incredibly foolish for assuming that he was shutting her out. What right did she have to even be let in? She shook her head. "Luke, would you look at this place?" She gestured around her with her hands. "It can't be any worse upstairs than it is here."

He cracked a half-smile at that. "Suit yourself."

He turned his chair and made off for the elevators. She followed him silently. As they rode the elevator up to the third floor, Peyton couldn't ignore the mounting tension between her and Lucas. The pressure was building and it seemed like the calm before the storm. It had been like this since the moment she'd shown up at his house, and maybe even since she'd first run into him outside Max's now defunct music store. Peyton sensed an explosion coming and she feared what would become of them amidst the fallout.

An electronic chime sounded as the elevator cab came to rest and the doors slid open, admitting them onto the floor. A few short paces and she came face-to-face with Dr. Capshaw. He was fiftyish, with salt-and-pepper hair and a kind smile. "Someone new, I see. And you would be…?"

"A friend." She shook his hand, noting the firm yet gentle grip. "I'm Peyton."

"I'm Dr. Capshaw. I hope you don't mind me saying, but you are a lovely young-lady," he complimented.

She felt herself blush. Peyton could tell he was being sincere and that his comment was completely innocent, a far cry from the lascivious advances of the many perverted old executives she'd had to put up with back in L.A. "Umm, thanks." She laughed nervously.

"You're a lucky young man, Lucas." Dr. Capshaw's eyes gleamed mischievously as he spoke and Peyton did her best to hide her embarrassment. She looked down at Lucas and could tell he was doing the same.

"Doc, come on…" Lucas's voice was exasperated.

"Anyway," Dr. Capshaw interrupted, abruptly changing the subject. "It's late, so I guess we should get down to business." He stood up from his desk and, much to Peyton's surprise, grabbed hold of the handles on Lucas's wheelchair, turned him around, and began to push him out of the office. Lucas didn't object so she figured this was standard practice. He stopped at the doorway and turned to Peyton. "Feel free to wait here in my office if you want."

Peyton shook her head. "I'll come along…if it's okay." She glanced at Lucas, silently asking his permission.

"Why wouldn't it be okay?" Dr. Capshaw answered for him. "I'm sure you'd serve as great motivation for Lucas." That impish gleam had sprung up in the older man's eyes again.

"Doc!" Lucas ground out. He met Peyton's eyes, as visibly flustered as she felt. "It's fine."

"Then it's settled then," Capshaw announced. "Off we go." Peyton followed as he pushed Lucas out into the hall and toward the exercise room.

For the next forty-five minutes, in the exercise room, Peyton looked on as Lucas labored on the rails. His hands gripped the metal bars tightly as he tried to make his legs walk. Off to the side, Dr. Capshaw stood, closely observing him while jotting notes down on a clipboard. The therapy nurse, a middle-aged woman named Sarah, hovered near Lucas, ready to spring into action should he fall or stumble.

Lucas tried to hide it, but the strain and frustration practically radiated off of him. A thin sheen of perspiration coated his skin, and his shirt clung to his torso in different spots. Any other time or place, and Peyton would've found the sight of him unbearably sexy, but each time he winced in obvious pain, she was reminded that he had to go through this twice a week, and her heart ached for him. It wasn't fair and she wished she could endure it for him.

"Alright, I'd say that's enough for today." Dr. Capshaw lowered his clipboard and peered at his watch. "Forty-seven minutes, not bad at all." He scribbled down a few last things, then clicked his pen and slid it into the breast pocket of his coat. He tucked the clipboard into his right armpit and approached Lucas, who was being helped into his wheelchair by Sarah. "Well, you've shown definite improvement, Lucas. You ought to be pleased with yourself. At this rate, I can see you walking in another month."

Lucas's exhausted features brightened slightly and Peyton felt hope wash over her. "You really think so?" she asked, taking her place beside Lucas.

Dr. Capshaw nodded. "Definitely. For awhile, I was worried the injury he suffered was too severe for him to progress beyond simple movements of the digits." He turned to Lucas. "But today, you were able to balance yourself without help, and you managed to put one foot in front of the other, even if they were just baby-steps. Now don't get me wrong, there's still a chance you'll have complications for the rest of your life, but at this point, I can almost guarantee you'll be free of that wheelchair soon."

Peyton was almost giddy. He was going to be okay. He was going to walk again, and when he did, the old Lucas would return, she was sure of it. She smiled at him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Luke, that's great."

He didn't return her smile, and she frowned, wondering why he seemed so downtrodden. They wrapped things up back in Dr. Capshaw's office, where the older man presented Lucas with some paperwork and quizzed him about how he was doing at home and with his back. Peyton could see that Lucas was still wrecked from his therapy session, so when they finished up with Dr. Capshaw, she took up the reins of his chair. He made no protests.

As they made their way down the corridor toward the elevators, Peyton felt lighter than she had in a long time. "Well, I think this calls for a celebration. The doctor said you're going to be okay."

"Yeah, well the doctor didn't get a piece of glass lodged in his spine four months ago," he bit out.

Peyton rolled her eyes, annoyance flaring up inside her. It may have been ironic coming from her, the reigning queen of cynicism, but why couldn't he be more optimistic? "Luke, come on, don't be like that."

He sighed. "You don't get it, Peyton."

Her annoyance grew into full-blown irritation. They reached the elevators and she jabbed the call button on the nearest one a little harder than she should have. The doors slid open and she briskly pushed Lucas inside, then turned around and punched the ground-floor button. As the doors closed and the cab began to descend, Peyton had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from saying something caustic.

Instead, she took a deep breath and summoned up all the patience she could muster, though there wasn't much left. "Luke, you-"

She never got to finish her sentence, because just then, the lights went out and the elevator came to a sudden and jarring halt, almost knocking her off her feet. She blindly reached out for the railing and managed to grab hold of it, steadying herself. For two terrifying seconds, she fought off panic as she found herself immersed in pitch blackness. Then, mercifully, the emergency lights came on, bathing the elevator car in a soft incandescence.

Her knees went weak with relief as she made out Lucas's figure right next her. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he replied. "But we're not."

Her relief faded at his words. He was right, they weren't okay.

They were trapped.

* * *

Lucas tapped the big red emergency button repeatedly, but nothing happened. Same for all the other buttons; the elevator was completely dead. For the next three minutes, he and Peyton banged on the doors and shouted as loud as they could, but all it amounted to was a ringing in his ears and a sore throat.

"God Luke, what if they don't realize we're trapped in here? What if everybody leaves and we're stuck here all night?" There was panic in her voice and in her eyes.

Lucas took hold of her hand, relishing the feel of her warm, soft skin. He felt her relax instantly and he was strangely gratified that he could still have that effect on her. "Calm down, Peyton. It's probably just a blackout. As soon as the power comes back on, the elevator will move again. We're just going to have to wait it out."

She took a deep, shuttering breath and exhaled shakily. "I guess you're right. Stuff like this just freaks me out."

"It's okay, I'm right here," he soothed. The familiarity of those words struck him. They'd shared practically the same exchange during a night in her old childhood room five years ago when the power had gone out. It felt like another lifetime ago; a better life.

Peyton's eyes reflected the same memory and he wondered if it was as distant in her mind as it was in his. Distant, yet hauntingly fresh. Because no matter how hard he'd tried, Lucas had never been able to let those memories go in all the time he'd been without her. How could he, when they were such a big part of who he was?

"Sounds familiar." Her voice was wistful.

Through the dimness, Lucas met her eyes. It was still there. That unspoken, uncanny 'thing' that had always been between them. It had connected them on a level so deep it couldn't be measured; it had gotten them both in more than a bit of trouble; and it had made being apart from one another almost unbearable. It was still there.

Lucas's heart thundered in his chest and he felt almost light-headed. Should he be ecstatic, or mortified? Exhilarated, or terrified? He truly didn't know.

"_Hello? Is anyone down there?_" The voice was muffled and seemed to come from somewhere above. Whoever it belonged to was shouting, but inside the elevator, you had to strain to make out the words.

Peyton's eyes widened and they gaped at each other for a split second before Peyton tilted her head upward. "Yes, we're trapped in the elevator, there's two of us!" she bellowed.

"_Okay, a transformer across the street exploded and the power's out across the block. The elevator cab is trapped between floors so we can't force the doors open. The power should be back in about an hour, so sit tight until then. Can you do that?_"

Do we have a choice? Lucas thought.

"Sure, okay!" Peyton shouted. "Thanks!"

She collapsed onto her haunches and drew her knees up to her chest. Lucas, once again, caught a generous view of her legs and tried desperately to will away the sudden stiffness in his lower quarters. So not the time.

"Thank God," Peyton sighed, visibly relieved. "At least they know we're here." She rested her head against the wall. "I guess an hour won't be so bad."

"Probably not," Lucas said awkwardly. An hour trapped alone with Peyton Sawyer, the girl that had gotten away and then exploded back into his life again.

Somehow, Lucas knew this was going to be very bad.

* * *

Peyton cursed herself for forgetting to bring her iPod. She took it with her pretty much everywhere she went, but the one time she needed it the most, she'd left it at home. Typical. She sat crouched up against the elevator wall, picking at her fingernails for lack of anything better to do, and trying to avoid glancing at Lucas.

Ten minutes of awkward, pregnant silence cleared, about fifty more to go. Great. She finally gave in to temptation and looked over at Lucas. He was still; head lolled back, eyes closed. She couldn't tell if he was dozing or just resting his eyes. He must still be exhausted from the rehab, she figured. She turned her attention back to her nails.

"No iPod?" She hadn't realized how on edge she was, because Lucas's voice almost made her jump several feet.

Of course he would notice that. She didn't know why it surprised her, but it did. How could he still be so attuned to her after all this time? "No, I left it back at Brooke's house." She noticed his eyes were still closed; he hadn't even bothered to open them when he'd spoken. For some reason, that bugged her.

"Oh," was all he said.

'Oh?' Not again. What the hell was his fascination with the expression 'oh?' Hearing that pass his lips brought back unpleasant memories. Senior year, the night before the State Championship, when she'd finally scrounged up the courage to tell him how she felt about him, and he'd uttered that hateful thing and walked out. Of course, he'd more than made up for it the next night, but still.

And why couldn't he open his damn eyes and look at her?

Lucas must've been reading her mind, because he suddenly sat up and did just that. "What?"

"'What' what?"

"Was it something I said?" He was looking at her intensely.

Seriously, was he actually reading her mind? "What do you mean?" She played dumb.

"It's just that you seem…" He hesitated. "Never mind."

She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes, brushing a few stray locks of hair out of her face and tucking them behind her ear. It wasn't fair that he could still read her so well; in fact, it was infuriating. But then she realized, as he massaged the back of his neck with his hand, that she could still read him, too. That gesture was a classic sign that Lucas was nervous or pensive.

"No really, what?" she challenged. It occurred to Peyton that she was deliberately trying to provoke him. She wasn't sure why, but she suddenly found herself spoiling for a fight. Maybe it was the feeling of confinement, but more likely, it was her frustration at Lucas not expressing anything other than casual indifference since she'd come back to Tree Hill. She wanted to get a reaction out of him.

"Nothing," he dismissed.

"No Lucas, it's not nothing. If it was nothing, you wouldn't have brought it up." She didn't even bother to disguise the hostility in her voice.

His once dull-blue eyes suddenly came to life and were now smoldering. "What's with the attitude?"

She snorted and stood up, crossing her arms across her chest. "Look, are we ever going to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" He was the one playing dumb now.

"Us! You and me, Lucas!" She pointed to him then to herself as she ground out each word. "How much longer are we going to pretend nothing happened? That we're nothing more than two old friends catching up? Because I'm tired of avoiding it!"

Lucas recoiled slightly. He glanced upward toward the ceiling and all around the small space before finally bringing his gaze back to her. "What do you want me to say, Peyton? What's there to talk about?"

"Gee, I don't know," she replied sarcastically. Frustration compelled her body into action and she began to pace back and forth, arms crossed. "Let's start with why you left me in that hotel room and didn't call or write for three years. Or why you didn't call when you got injured and I had to find out three months after the fact. That a good enough conversation-opener for you?"

He was looking at her as if she'd grown a second head.

* * *

Lucas didn't want to do this. He didn't want to revisit that time and that place, but he had no choice. Peyton was going to drag him back there kicking and screaming; back to that hotel room in L.A. three years ago when his world had fallen apart. There was no escape, nowhere to run, because he was trapped here with her.

"Let's start with why you left me in that hotel room and didn't call or write for three years."

He did a double take. She said something else, but Lucas was too stunned by that last statement to comprehend anything that came after it. He left her? _She_ told _him_ to leave! The morning after she'd rejected his proposal they'd gotten into a huge fight, and at the end of it, she'd told him to get out. So that's exactly what he did. Now she had the audacity to claim that he was the one that had walked out on her?

"Okay, fine. You want to start with that?" She halted her pacing at his words and trained her angry eyes on him. "I walked out of that hotel room because you told me to, remember? You said that I should leave, so I did!"

"Yeah, for three goddamned years, Lucas!" Her voice was like a blunt instrument to his eardrums. "I just needed some space. I didn't think you'd walk out of my life for good!"

"How was I supposed to know that?"

"You just were!" Peyton was breathing hard now, her chest heaving, and her eyes hinted of tears. "I mean, you show up in L.A. and ambush me…"

"Oh, I ambushed you?" He pounded the armrest of his chair furiously, eliciting a small shock of pain in his hand.

"Oh yeah, totally out of the blue, based on some insecurity that I have never understood-"

"Insecurity?" he cut her off. Lucas was not going to let her get away with that one. "Peyton, I asked you to marry me and you said no. How the hell does that make me the insecure one?"

"I never said no!" she exploded. "I said that I did want to marry you, someday. God Luke, I wanted you so much. But you gave up on us."

"I gave up on us? By proposing, I gave up on us?" His temple pounded and his stomach clenched into a painful knot.

"No, by not waiting you gave up on us, and you know that's the truth!" she gritted out, pointing at him accusingly.

"Well that's great, Peyton!" he shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls of the elevator. "You want to know the truth?"

She cocked her eyebrows challengingly, daring him to speak.

"You were scared. The idea of forever terrified you, so you ran. You ran from me." And that was the truth as Lucas saw it. Her saying someday to his proposal was no different than her pushing him away at Dan's party way back when. She was fleeing from her feelings while Lucas had been running towards his. Same old, same old.

Peyton blanched and shook her head furiously.

* * *

Peyton shook her head violently, vainly trying to rid her memory of the words he'd just spoken. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. He had it all wrong. That Lucas even thought that was too painful to even acknowledge.

It was true, she had been scared back then, but not of being with Lucas. Peyton had been scared of what would become of them if they jumped into marriage too soon. They were barely nineteen, living on opposite sides of the country, entangled in careers and obligations with barely moments to spare even so much as an email. They weren't Nathan and Haley, they were Lucas and Peyton, and there was no way they would've made a marriage or even an engagement work in their circumstances back then. Why couldn't he see that?

"Is that what you really think? That I was afraid of committing to you?"

"It's not what I think, it's what I know," Lucas replied sourly.

"Well you're wrong." Peyton tried to fight back the tears, but a few broke through and trailed down her cheeks. "It was the one thing I wanted more than anything. When I said I wanted to marry you someday, I meant it, Luke. But I knew we were too young and we had too much going on in our lives to make it work at the time."

"Okay, fine," Lucas conceded. "But I didn't mean for us to get married right that second, Peyton. We could've had a long engagement."

Peyton shook her head. "No we couldn't have. You remember how crazy our schedules were. There would've been no time to plan the wedding or do anything." She shut her eyes tightly then opened them and met Lucas's heavy stare. "But if I'd known that not saying yes would've meant the end of us, I'd have taken my chances and accepted your proposal."

"Well it's a little late for that now, isn't it?" His electric-blue eyes churned with bitterness.

It stung her; deeply. She turned her back to him and furiously swiped the tear-tracks on her face with her forearm. She couldn't look at his tortured face any longer. This was killing him even to talk about, she could tell. It was killing her, too. At that moment, the fire in her belly died out and a bone-deep weariness set in. Exhausted, she slumped down into a sitting position, back propped up against the wall. Her handbag came to rest on the floor beside her with a soft thud. She peered over at Lucas, whose head was turned away from her.

She couldn't take any more of this.

* * *

What the hell was taking them so goddamned long to get the power back? Lucas groused mentally. He wanted out, now. This whole thing had turned into a complete disaster and he just wanted it to end. It had been almost ten minutes since he and Peyton had exchanged any words, and the girl in question was currently sitting down, curled up against the wall, her head between her knees.

His pupils lingered on her mane of soft curls. They bounced slightly when she suddenly lifted her head, apparently having sensed him watching her, and he rapidly turned his head away. Everything hurt. Not his body, but his heart and everything that was inside it. After all these years, it was still incredibly raw. He was still mourning what he'd lost back in that hotel room, and now, it was as if somebody had dug up the casket and dumped the decomposed body onto the grass.

"I still carry it around with me." Her voice shattered the heavy silence and startled Lucas. "The leather-bound copy of your novel."

His insides clenched. His mother had had his manuscript printed and bound and had given it to him as a graduation present. The morning Peyton had left for L.A., Lucas had given it to her in spite of her protests. He'd wanted her to have something to remember him by so that whenever she didn't have confidence in herself she could just read the words he'd written about her and know that he did.

"Everywhere I went, I took it with me. Work, restaurants, even when I just went grocery shopping; I never went anywhere without it." She reached into her handbag and fished out the book in question. "See? I even have it with me now. I didn't always read it, I liked to have it close to me because it felt like I had a piece of you."

He swallowed heavily, pure emotion pulsing through him. Peyton returned the leather tome to her handbag. "It ended up driving away a perfectly good guy."

Lucas said nothing. It was as if someone was holding an invisible knife to his abdomen, poking him with the tip sadistically. Guy?

"His name was Julian Baker," she continued, her voice flat and monotone. She wasn't looking at him, but at the floor before her. "He was an indie film producer. We first met two years ago and he took me to Sundance for our first date. He was a wonderful guy, sarcastic and witty."

The sharp point of the invisible knife pricked his flesh.

"We were incredible together. He made me laugh and he picked up the pieces of my broken heart and put it back together, or at least he tried."

The knife-point prodded at the lips of his torn skin.

"And eventually, I fell in love with him."

Suddenly, the knife plunged into his gut sharply. Excruciating pain billowed up within him and he clutched the armrests of his chair furiously. His eyes bore a hole into his lap. He did everything in his power not to look at the blonde across from him.

"But even when he moved in with me, and even when we went to film festivals and did couple-y things, I still carried your book around with me. Julian actually thought it was a bible at first." She laughed softly. "But then, one day, he found a picture of you. We had a big fight and then he left, and when he did, I realized something."

Lucas finally summoned up the courage to look at her and found himself mesmerized by her soulful green eyes. He didn't want to hear anymore and yet he yearned to know what she had to say next.

"I realized that the reason I carried your novel around with me and kept that picture of you was because even though I loved Julian, it was nothing compared to the love I have for you. And because he didn't understand the music I liked.

"I never showed him any of my drawings because I knew they wouldn't make sense to him. We couldn't have entire conversations with only our eyes the way you and I could. There were no perfectly comfortable silences between us like there used to be between you and me.

"And mostly," she rasped, her eyes watery. "Because he didn't get me like you do, Lucas. Because he wasn't you." She rose to her feet and slowly inched towards him.

He couldn't breathe. His mind couldn't wrap itself around what was happening. He tried to say something, anything, but his vocal cords were frozen. Peyton stood directly over him now, and as he took in her familiar scent, she kneeled down in front of him, eye-to-eye. Lucas opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"I still love you, Lucas, I never stopped." Her voice was like a warm, soft blanket. She still loved him, she'd never stopped. How many times had he dreamed of hearing those words the past few years? He wondered if he was dreaming now. But as she leaned forward, targeting his mouth with hers, pure love in her eyes, he knew it was really happening.

Lucas wanted her to kiss him, so badly. But just as her lips were about to brush his, he chickened out. Something inside of him didn't want to give into her so easily, not after everything that had happened. So he pulled back.

He instantly regretted it as her face fell and she recoiled. The look she gave him was heart wrenching and a batch of fresh tears threatened to spill from her beautiful eyes. And then the elevator brightened and came to life with a shudder. The power was back on.

As the car began to descend, they stared at one another. She was devastated and Lucas wanted more than anything to tell her he still loved her too and then kiss her furiously, but it was too late.

As the elevator reached the ground floor and the doors opened with a ding, he wondered what was supposed to happen now.

**~Chapter Eleven End**


	12. The Aftermath

**A/N: **Hey guys, sorry for the delay, life has been kicking my ass lately. I'm sure some of you can relate.

Anyway, here's chapter twelve. Only two more chapters and this fic is done.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: The Aftermath**

_Los Angeles_

_Three Years Ago_

_Through silk drapes, the morning sun washed the hotel room with golden light signaling the beginning of a new day. For Lucas, it signaled the end of everything. _

_The leather chair he'd been sitting upright in for the past few hours felt as hard as rock and his eyes were blurry and unfocused. He'd been staring at the still sleeping figure on the bed across from him since sunrise. Her golden curls came to life under dawn's bright gaze and her slightly tanned skin shone with a gentle bronze hue. The bedspread conformed to every contour of her body as she lay prone, her chest rising and falling gently._

_Lucas was cold on the inside; cold and dead. He wanted to pretend that last night had been a bad dream, one that would dissipate once Peyton woke up. Keith's ring would be on her finger and she'd be his fiancée and they'd have a lifetime to look forward to._

_Except that she wasn't his fiancée and Keith's ring was still in the box that he'd been turning over in his hands for the past couple of hours. Peyton had never even laid eyes on it. When he'd gotten down on one knee, ready to propose to her, she'd stopped him. Lucas still couldn't quite figure out what had gone wrong. The possibilities haunted him to his core and he had to know. That was the only reason he hadn't left outright. He'd thought about it as he'd lain beside her, watching her sleep. He'd seriously considered just walking out the door without saying goodbye. But as he'd been changing back into his street clothes and packing his bags, he'd decided that he didn't want to add his name to the long list of people that had left Peyton abruptly without a word. It was the one thing Lucas had promised her he'd never do and he intended to keep that promise._

_So he waited, nerves raw and stomach sour, for her to come to so he could get answers and maybe even convince her to change her mind. He had to, because if she didn't, Lucas had no idea how he would go on. In his mind, he went over what she'd said last night. She hadn't said no exactly, but she hadn't said yes, either. She'd said 'someday.' That she wanted to marry him someday but that she wasn't ready now. Lucas still didn't know what to make of that. What did someday mean? He wanted more than anything to take her words at face value; to believe that she really did just need time and then she would marry him._

_But he couldn't shake the icy tendrils of doubt that crawled up his spine. Maybe Peyton didn't want to be his wife. Maybe she didn't love him like he loved her. Maybe she was just trying to let him down easy; spare his feelings. Maybe a year in Los Angeles, a year apart from each other, had changed them both. Lucas didn't want to believe that, but he couldn't deny that things had changed. She was slipping away bit-by-bit, and now, he might have just lost her forever._

_Nausea crept within him and his hands, which still held the ring-box, shook slightly. Lucas knew there was no coming back from this and he suspected that Peyton knew it as well. If he couldn't change her mind then they were done and Lucas couldn't accept that. He couldn't fathom going back to a life where she wasn't his and he wasn't hers._

_He started slightly when she took a breath. His pupils focused on her as she stirred and mumbled something incoherent and he wanted to cry at how adorable she was._

"_Lucas," she whispered as her eyes came open and scanned her surroundings before focusing on his luggage near the door. She then turned her attention to him in the chair. Neither of them said anything for a moment, at least not with their mouths. Her green eyes, however, said plenty._

_They spoke of hurt and impending heartbreak in an accusatory tone and Lucas was fairly certain his blue eyes were returning the sentiment. This was them. They rarely needed words and even after months of infrequent emails and barely any phone calls, they still connected on this level._

"_So this is how it's going to be." Her voice was broken. "You're just going to leave."_

"_No," he corrected her. "If I wanted to leave I would've already. But I couldn't go without asking why."_

"_Lucas…" She looked down._

"_Why don't you want to marry me?" He hated how broken he sounded but that was the power this girl had: the power to break him more completely than anyone else could._

_Her head snapped up. "I do want to marry you! God Lucas, I want that so bad, but I just can't, not right now."_

"_Why not?!" Lucas shot up from the chair and the ring-box slipped from his hands and tumbled to the fine carpet below. Peyton visibly startled, her green-eyes shocked at his outburst. He instantly felt guilty, but his frustration didn't abate. "Just tell me why, Peyt."_

_She huffed and launched herself from the bed and onto her feet. Her arms crossed over her chest defensively and she stalked over toward the wall before stopping and turning back to him. "Lucas, we're only nineteen. We have our whole lives ahead of us. We're not Nathan and Haley, okay? We're us and the whole marriage-before-we're-old-enough-to-legally-drink-thing isn't going to work for us. I have a dream I have to chase, Luke, and so do you, and if we get married now we're just going to hold each other back, and I don't want that." She uncrossed her arms and slowly walked up to him, cupping his cheek in her hand. "Can you understand that?"_

_Somewhere deep down, he could. There was a rational part of him that understood exactly what she was saying and a distant voice in his head was pleading with him to stop now before he said something he regretted. But his pride was hurt and so was his heart and it felt like his greatest dream was slipping through his fingers. In his current state-of-mind, there was no room for rationality. "No, I can't. I don't see why we can't chase our dreams together, engaged. I can move here. I'm sure UCLA has a good literature program, I can transfer."_

_Peyton shook her head and removed her hand from his cheek. "No, Luke, you can't. Like I already told you, Nathan and Haley need you and Whitey's counting on you. You can't just drop everything and move here. Besides, I need to do this on my own."_

"_Peyton…"_

"_Luke, I never let myself really rely on anyone until I met you." Her voice was soft and wistful. "And then you came along and saved me from myself and from everything else, and I love you for wanting to be here for me, but I have to know whether or not I can make it without anyone's help."_

_It all boiled over in that instant. Lucas snorted and scooped up the ring-box from the carpet. He stalked past Peyton and over to his belongings. "Whatever Peyton. I'm out of here."_

"_Luke, wait!" Her voice was high-pitched and almost panic-stricken. "Will you just stop?! Why are you acting like this?"_

"_Why?" He turned back toward her. "Maybe because the girl I love more than anything, the girl I want to spend the rest of my life with, doesn't want to be with me."_

"_Oh my God, Lucas, you're not listening to anything I'm saying!" Her eyes were red as tears began to form._

"_No, Peyton, I hear you loud and clear." Lucas couldn't control himself. Every insecurity and doubt he'd had during the past year came rushing to the surface. He desperately wanted to stop himself; to clamp his mouth shut and not say another word, but he couldn't. "Your job means more to you than I do."_

_Peyton recoiled almost violently. She slumped onto the bed, her face a mask of bewilderment and hurt so intense it wilted his soul. "I..I can't…I can't believe you actually just said that." She looked up at him, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. "You told me to take that internship. You encouraged me to go out and pursue my dreams."_

"_That's because I thought you were only going to be gone for a few months!" Warning lights flashed in his brain; he was dancing on the edge of a razor blade._

_Her misty eyes widened. She sprung to her feet, outrage twisting her features. "Oh, I get it, so it's alright for me to go after my goals and dreams just so long as it's on your terms." Her green eyes were as hard as steel._

"_No! That's not what I meant!" Lucas yelled. "You're the one that's not listening now. I just want to be with you, Peyton. Is that so wrong?"_

_Peyton shook her head furiously and buried her face in her hands. She sniffed deeply and tilted her head back, as if she were silently praying. "I can't do this. Lucas, I want to be with you more than anything, but not when you're like this. I barely even recognize you."_

_Lucas winced. That cut deep, though he probably deserved it. Truth is, he didn't even know what he was doing anymore. He had screwed this up royally, he knew that. There was truth to everything she had said, he realized deep down. But his damn pride wouldn't leave him alone. All he could think about was her clamping her hands over his just as he'd been on the verge of showing her Keith's ring and all he could see was rejection spelled out in big, red letters. And it burned, badly._

_So he decided to burn her back. "And yet you recognized Jake enough to want to run to the alter with him."_

_Her face crumpled and her jaw hit the ground. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks and she slowly brought her hand up to her chest and rested it over her heart. In that moment, Lucas wanted to take everything he'd said and did since last night back. As she paled, he wanted to kiss all the hurt he'd inflicted on her away and take her in his arms and never let her go. Lucas felt his eyes burn with tears of his own. "God, Peyton, I am so…"_

"_Don't."_

_One word, uttered in an anguished tone of voice, made Lucas instantly loath himself. Cautiously, he walked towards her, tucking the ring-box into his jeans pocket. "Please Peyton, I just…"_

"_Just stop! Just stop it already!" she screeched and Lucas felt every word puncture his heart like bullets. "I asked Jake to marry me because I was running away from my feelings for you. And now you're asking me to marry you because you're running away from your problems."_

"_What?" His stomach dropped like a stone. Is that what she thought? "Peyton, God, that's not what this is about. I'm not running away, I'm running towards you."_

"_No, you're not!" she sobbed. Her hand wiped the tear tracts on her face and she sniffled. "Please, just go."_

_Lucas crumbled on the inside. "Peyt, please…"_

"_I don't know what to say to you anymore, Lucas!" she practically yelled. "I can't do this! You're making this all or nothing and I can't deal with that! Not when I have so much going on in my life. So I think it would be best if you just go. I'm sorry Lucas."_

_Stricken, he stared at her for a full fifteen seconds. "Fine," he finally replied. "I'll go." He could barely keep from choking up. It was over. It was really over and there wasn't a thing he could do about it._

_Gutted, he silently turned around and grabbed his bag. Slinging it over his shoulder he took one last look at the distraught girl sitting aimlessly on the bed. It would likely be the last look Lucas would ever get to take and it had to be one of her crying and heartbroken. His fault._

"_Goodbye Peyton," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I'll always love you."_

_And then he opened the hotel door and stepped directly into hell: a world where Peyton wasn't in his life._

_

* * *

_

Lucas awoke to a warm wetness on his cheeks and a faint tingling in his legs. He opened his moist eyes and the blurry image of his bedroom's ceiling greeted him. He sniffed and slowly propped himself up into a sitting position. Pain flashed in his back but he ignored it. The dream—no, memory—was still fresh in his mind and his heart thumped painfully. His temple ached and his eyes were raw. He'd been crying in his sleep.

And then he realized that he was actually feeling something in his legs. A sensation like pins and needles. Bewildered, he tossed the comforter aside and stared at the dark-blue checkered pajama-bottoms that covered his invalid appendages. He strained, trying to move them, but nothing.

And then his right leg twitched. It was so subtle it could've been missed with a blink, but it was unmistakable. His leg had twitched. For almost twenty minutes, Lucas furiously attempted to make it twitch again, but to no avail. His brief jubilation faded and he came crashing down. It had just been a fluke. His legs had stopped tingling now, and Lucas wondered if he'd just been seeing things after all.

Impotent fury seized him and he viciously pounded the bed on either side of him with his fists, causing the mattress to shudder in indignity. Lucas shook his head back and forth furiously and his face collapsed into his palms. His fingers roughly massaged his scalp, mangling his messy blond hair in the process. He didn't care, though. He didn't care about anything anymore.

Hope never lasted: it was there one second and gone the next. He would never walk again, he was sure of it. It had been more than three months and the most he could do was wiggle his toes, somewhat. That was probably all he'd ever be able to do, despite what Dr. Capshaw had said.

Suddenly, Lucas's head rose from his hands and he looked wildly around his bedroom, eyes taking in the grey walls painted with sunlight.

Last night; trapped in the elevator; trapped in the elevator with Peyton; Peyton telling him she still loved him; Peyton trying to kiss him; him pulling away; the devastated look on her face and her heart breaking right in front of him. It all came back.

A gourd rose in his throat and his stomach constricted. After the power had come back on and the elevator had deposited them on the ground floor, Peyton had brushed past a couple of concerned maintenance men while Lucas desperately followed, trying to catch up. The ride home had been deadly silent, neither one of them saying a word, and when they'd arrived at his house, she had coldly exited the car, retrieved his wheelchair, and watched stonily as he maneuvered himself into it. Then, like a machine, she had gotten back into the BMW and driven off, not once glancing back.

He felt like he was going to throw up. With one hand, he clenched his stomach. The realization of what had happened in that elevator was so painful it had manifested itself physically. Peyton had given him a second chance, and he'd blown it. She'd told him everything he'd ever wanted to hear in that elevator, and when she'd moved in for a kiss, he'd wanted it—needed it—more than life itself. But he'd pulled away.

Had it been out of pride yet again? No, that wasn't it. It was because he hadn't deserved it.

Clarity hit him like a gale-force wind. Lucas shut his eyes but could not prevent the tears from coming. Before long, he was sobbing. Not loud wails, but silent, quiet sobs. He grabbed fistfuls of the bed sheet and squeezed them tightly, vainly hoping to transfer his anguish into them. But he needed to feel this anguish, he was entitled to it.

It was all so clear now; so many things made sense. He'd broken Peyton's heart not once, but twice, and his own in the process. He hadn't waited for her, he hadn't had faith in her love for him, he'd accused her of loving her work more than him, and then he'd badgered her until she'd broken. Back then, in that hotel room three years ago, Lucas had stopped being the man he was supposed to be. And he'd hated himself for it ever since. That was why he'd allowed himself to get kicked out of college; why he'd thrown away the opportunity to have his novel published. He hadn't deserved to have those successes.

He'd chased away his friends and family because he hadn't deserved to have people that cared about him and he eschewed any chance of him fully recovering because he didn't deserve to walk again. The last three years had been nothing more than one attempt after another to sabotage and punish himself for letting the one girl he'd ever truly loved go in such a stupid way.

Lucas curled into himself, resting his arms across his useless legs. His back issued a rude shock of pain but he simply gritted his teeth and bared it. He'd ruined everything and there might not be any way back.

Right now, all Lucas wanted was oblivion.

* * *

Brooke Davis fancied herself a problem-solver. Most people wouldn't expect it, but even back in high school when she'd been as flakey as the driest cereal, she'd had a knack for fixing things. Things like fashion disasters, relationship woes, and the people she cared about most. Granted, much of what she'd fixed she'd broken in the first place, but her schemes and plans had accomplished many-a-great thing in her time.

But Brooke knew without a doubt that none of the many skills in her arsenal would likely do any good for her best friend who was still holed up in her room after stumbling in, tear-stricken, last night. She'd knocked on her door and then quietly let herself in, only to find her blonde best friend curled up on the bed, crying her eyes out. It hadn't taken a genius to figure out what—or who—had made Peyton so distraught.

Brooke had silently taken Peyton into her arms and the taller girl had rested her head in her lap. Knowing the blonde would only talk when she was ready, Brooke had stroked her mane of curls, comforting her as the tears flowed. Finally, Peyton had opened up and told the brunette everything. And what a story it'd been.

She had told Brooke about the elevator getting stuck, her and Lucas arguing, and then Peyton telling him how she felt about him, moving in for a kiss, only to have him pull away. Her heart broke for her best friend and she felt guilty for encouraging Peyton to be so aggressive with Lucas. Brooke hadn't even seen Lucas yet. She had no idea how much he'd changed and maybe she'd been wrong in assuming he would still have feelings for Peyton. Still, intuition told her that no matter how different Lucas might be he would always have a place for Peyton at the center of his heart.

Brooke had intended to stay with Peyton all night, but the blonde had wanted her space and Brooke had obliged. She'd barely slept five minutes all night, so worried was she about her best friend, and when the sun came up and she trudged out into the kitchen at almost 10:30 and saw that Peyton still wasn't up, she became even more worried.

Sure, Peyton wasn't a morning person but even she usually never slept this late. Gingerly, she approached the door to Peyton's room and knocked softly. "Peyton, are you up?"

No response. Frowning, Brooke knocked again, a little louder this time. Still nothing. She pressed her ear up against the door and listened for even the faintest hint of stirring. Dead silence greeted her. Brooke contemplated trying the doorknob but decided against it. Obviously, Peyton wanted to be alone and Brooke wasn't going to begrudge her that.

Sighing, she returned to the kitchen area, her pink bathrobe trailing behind her. She started the coffee machine and poured some cereal into a bowl. She had a lot to do today. She hadn't told Peyton yet, but yesterday she'd bought the building that had once been Karen's Café. Since then, she'd been in contact with Millicent, her assistant back in New York, and a local contractor who she'd be meeting with later.

She was going to open a Clothes Over Bros boutique in Tree Hill and run her company from here. She dreaded having to break the news to Victoria but Tree Hill was home and she was going to do this whether her mother liked it or not.

After breakfast, Brooke showered and dressed herself in a red halter-top and a pair of grey, denim shorts, all exclusively C/B. Gathering her purse and her keys, she paused in front of Peyton's door. "I'm going out for a little while, P. Sawyer. If you need anything, and I mean anything at all, just call me, okay?"

Brooke didn't expect a reply and didn't wait for one. She stepped out into the glaring sun, unlocking her BMW by remote. Her meeting with the contractor wasn't until noon.

She had plenty of time to stop in and see an old friend.

* * *

Peyton wiped her raw eyes with the back of her hand and sniffled. She must've cried out half of the water in her body by now but the tears just kept coming. She clutched Lucas's book to her chest like a child would their favorite stuffed animal. It was all she had left of the boy that had stolen her heart and now no longer wanted her.

She shut her eyes tightly, blocking out the sunlight that seeped through the blinds. Brooke knocked on her door and asked if she was up but Peyton ignored her. She loved her best friend to death but Brooke had a life she had to live and Peyton didn't want to monopolize her time. Besides, she needed to lose herself in the solitude.

Brooke's voice came through the door once again, telling her that she was going out and that if Peyton needed anything she could call her. Peyton didn't say anything back and she was pretty sure Brooke didn't expect her to.

Peyton sniffed again, breathing deeply. She shifted from her side onto her back, her hand brushing a few curls from her face. Lucas had always loved to do that and she'd loved to let him. It was a simple pleasure she'd never get to enjoy again and the very thought provoked a fresh batch of tears.

It was over. The finality of that wasn't something she wanted to accept but she had no choice. Lucas didn't love her anymore; he didn't want to be with her and there was no getting around that. Peyton had loved him and wished for him for so long—three whole years—even when she'd been in love with another man. But last night, in that elevator, when he'd pulled away from her, a part of her, the part that had still held hope that Lucas loved her like she loved him, died.

Her heart now had a gaping hole in it that would never be filled and she would have to live with the gnawing pain for the rest of her life; a life without Lucas in it.

Peyton's grip on the book tightened, the leather digging into the flesh of her hands. She lowered her watery gaze onto the worn tome.

She would have to get rid of it. She needed to let Lucas go and she wouldn't be able to do that if she carried this piece of him around with her everywhere like she'd been doing. The thought of parting with it made Peyton queasy, but it wasn't hers to keep anymore and neither was Lucas's heart.

Slowly, she sat up on the bed and leaned against the headboard, smoothing her hair back and clearing the salty moisture from her eyes with a tissue she'd grabbed from the nightstand. After balling up the tissue and tossing it into the wastebasket, she opened Lucas's book to the first page with shaking hands.

She was going to read it cover-to-cover one last time. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, her stomach twisted as she began to pour over his beautiful and elegant words. For the next several hours she would relive their past: every moment, heartbreak, triumph and tragedy. Their best moments and their worst; their ins and their outs; everything they were she would experience all over again. And after she'd finished reading the last word she would close this chapter of her life once and for all.

If she was being honest with herself, she would never really be able to let Lucas go. But she could no longer hold onto him, either.

* * *

There were no more tears, he had cried them all. Lucas's eyes were as dry as any desert though still quite raw. He had made his bed, bathed, and gotten dressed. He'd called in sick to work, the first time he'd ever done so, because he knew there was no way he'd have been able to keep his mind on the job.

For the past hour, he'd meandered from one end of the house to the other, wandering in and out of rooms like a rat trapped in a maze, searching for something. Something that would distract him from his current state of mind. What he really wanted, though, was an exit; a way out. Not from his house but from the person he had become. He wanted to go back and do everything differently, but life didn't work that way. You couldn't just rewind time or push a reset button like you would on a videogame. You had to live with the consequences of your actions because they couldn't be taken back.

That didn't stop Lucas from frantically wishing that he could. Because if it were possible to do that, to relive the past three years of his life, he wouldn't have driven away all his friends and family with his anger and resentment. He wouldn't have left his brother when he'd so clearly been on the verge of doing something reckless. He wouldn't have ambushed Peyton with a proposal and he damn sure would've marched right back to L.A. and told her that he'd wait forever if he had to.

He could never know what his life would've been like if he'd made different decisions—better decisions—and he never would. He was trapped and there was no way out.

Hard rubber glided over hardwood floor as Lucas rolled himself down the hallway and toward his room. The walls of this house carried so many memories, good and bad. He remembered a time so long ago when he and Haley, as kids, had raced back and forth down this hall, breathless, as one tried to tag the other. Lucas, being naturally athletic, had always had the advantage in speed and agility, but he'd let Haley win from time-to-time to keep her spirits up. His mother would always smile conspiratorially at him, a knowing look in her eyes.

If he closed his eyes and listened hard enough, Lucas could almost hear the excited giggling of his and Haley's younger selves. Almost. But mostly, there was just silence.

He hovered in the doorway of his bedroom, his eyes scanning the four walls and the bed. He wasn't tired but he didn't want to be awake. He didn't want to be anywhere or anything. Lucas wanted to claw his way out of his own flesh; escape from the translucent prison that was his existence, the pain of which coiled around him like a python suffocating its prey.

Footsteps on the porch and a shadow in the window of his door alerted him to another's presence. There was a brisk knock and then the door to his room opened and a remnant of his past stepped across the threshold.

Chocolate-brown eyes peered at him curiously from a heart-shaped face framed by fiery red hair. Adorned in a red halter-top and a pair of denim shorts, Brooke Davis looked every bit as fabulous as if she'd just stepped onto the red carpet in front of a sea of demanding photographers.

"Hey stranger," she rasped.

"Brooke?" Lucas was taken aback slightly by how hoarse his voice was but more so by the girl standing in his bedroom. She was once a girl he loved and the best friend of the girl he still loved. Lucas had spotted her face on plenty of billboards and magazine covers but he hadn't seen her in person in four years.

Before he could say anything else, Brooke closed the distance, leaned down, and wrapped him up in a cozy hug. Her expensive perfume was beginning to tickle his nostrils when she turned her head into his slightly and whispered: "I'm so sorry."

That made him tear up and, as she pulled away and stood up, Lucas furiously cleared his eyes with his index knuckle, hoping the red-headed brunette hadn't noticed. "Peyton told me you came back to town with her. It's good to see you, Brooke."

She smiled faintly at him but her eyes held a serious look in them. "Well, I kind of had no choice seeing as how you don't write, you don't call…" She sat down on the edge of his bed, an expectant look on her face.

She wanted an explanation. She wanted him to tell her everything. Lucas had always had trouble opening up to Brooke when they'd been dating way back when, mostly because he'd known in his heart that she hadn't been the one for him, even if he hadn't been ready to admit it. So Lucas searched his memory and tried to rewind back to the time before he and Brooke had gotten together, late junior year of high school, when they'd managed to build a solid friendship. He desperately strained to feel as comfortable with her now as he had back then. But he was so disconnected from himself that his recollections were faded, like the display of a graphing calculator whose batteries were almost dead.

"Brooke, I'm sorry, I…" He stuttered, his voice skipping like a jilted CD player. "I'm sorry for not staying in touch, and for not telling you about…" His voice was small and pitiful, an accurate depiction of how he felt. Slowly, a throbbing pressure bubbled up from the base of his stomach and into his head, nesting in his eye-sockets.

Lucas turned his chair, and himself, away from Brooke, too embarrassed for words. He must've still been raw from his confrontation with Peyton last night for him to be breaking down so easily like this.

"Lucas," Brooke's voice tapped him on the shoulder. "You're a mess and so is Peyton."

Lucas's nostrils burned. He was holding it together by a hair.

Brooke wasn't going to hold back. "It hurts me to see her like this because she's my best friend, and it hurts me to see you like this because, even though we haven't spoken in almost four years, I still care about you."

Lucas let her words wash over him. He opened his mouth but nothing emerged.

"And I damn sure know you still care about her," she stated with certainty. "Hell, it's more than that. You still love her, and don't lie and say you don't. Peyton told me everything that happened in that elevator last night."

Lucas shook his head. "It's not that simple, Brooke."

"Why not?" she demanded. "You love her and you clearly need her, so why isn't it that simple?"

"Because!" Lucas shouted, whirling around, chair and all, to face the persistent red-head. "I can't take it back, Brooke! I blew my chance with her a second time and now it's over!"

Brooke cocked her head sideways as her brows sloped upward in disbelief. "Are you stupid for something? The only way you could ever blow your chance with Peyton for good is by giving up, which is clearly what you're doing."

Lucas snorted.

"And by the way," Brooke continued, heat permeating her voice. "If you weren't already in a wheelchair I would cripple you myself for bum-rushing her with a proposal all those years ago, and for hurting her all over again."

"She hurt me, too," Lucas defended.

"Oh, grow up!" Brooke's eyes were ablaze with righteous fire. "Are you really going to play this stupid he-said, she-said game? She hurts you so you hurt her back?"

"That's not what I'm doing!"

"Yes, you are! Man up to it!" The brunette let out a frustrated sigh and turned in a circle, her manicured hands smoothing out her cheeks. "Are you at least going to talk to her?"

"What's the point?" He wanted more than anything to erase the words he'd spoken to her last night and to not have pulled away from her kiss, but he couldn't. There was nothing he could say at this point.

"Unbelievable." The fervid brunette shot him a look of disgust. "Fine, but you know what Lucas? Peyton was up all night crying in her room and she's still there now. She loves you more than anything and I don't know if she'll ever get over you, but you can bet I'm going to help her try. I'll find her a guy that loves and respects her just as much, maybe even more, than you do and who isn't too chickenshit to admit his feelings for her."

Brooke turned on her heel and grabbed the door handle, but she didn't open it. Instead, she turned her head back toward him. "When the real Lucas, the boy I used to love and admire, decides to show his face, tell him it'll be too late." Her hand turned the knob and Brooke Davis exited with as much style as she'd entered.

Lucas couldn't breathe. Raw anguish seemed to stopper his windpipe. Brooke was right, he was chickenshit and Peyton deserved better. The brunette's words still rung in his ears, searing him like caustic acid.

He thought he was all cried out. He was wrong.

* * *

Her expensive heels clacked across the walkway to Lucas's house to their own beat. Brooke slipped inside her BMW and plopped down into the driver's seat but did not start the vehicle. She seized the wheel in a death grip with both hands as her vision swam with hot tears.

She let out a sob and scrubbed her face with her arm. That had been one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do. Lucas was suffering so much the last thing she'd wanted was to lay into him, but it'd been necessary. From the beginning, Brooke had known she would have to be harsh with him and not gentle. He was too far gone for her to treat him with kid-gloves.

That still didn't make her feel any less horrible. Brooke hoped to God that she'd gotten through to him; that she'd shaken him just enough to make him realize what he was doing to himself and to the people who loved and cared about him.

Brooke punched the push-button ignition and brought the engine to life. Her meeting with the contractor was in fifteen minutes. She put the SUV into gear and pulled away from Lucas's curb. As she sped down side streets at a rate that would provoke the ire of any cop that happened to be lurking nearby, Brooke tried to quell the tide of apprehension that raged inside of her. The sun's rays, unchallenged by clouds, dazzled the road and scenery around her and, coupled with the mild, breezy weather, made for a beautiful day, one that Brooke normally would've relished, especially since she was on the way to forging her own future here on her own and not under her overbearing mother's thumb.

However, she was too worried about Lucas and Peyton's future to be excited about her own.

* * *

Across Lucas's bed, a frenzied pile of pictures, CDs, and un-mailed letters were splattered like a Rorschach image on white paper. The letters had been written by Lucas in highschool. The pictures were all of Peyton, or of him and Peyton together, and the CDs were all mixes she'd given him.

Lucas knew each and every one of the songs on those CDs and what they meant to Peyton by heart. He could glance at any of the photos and recall when and where they were taken down to the time of day. These were the fragments of his heart, dozens of pieces forming a disorderly mess that he'd dumped onto his bedspread out of the drawer that had contained it.

A sea of green eyes stared back at him and Lucas returned that stare, coils of pain tightening him as taut as elevator cable. He stared for almost an hour, searching for something. Answers? Guidance? He didn't know. Well, maybe he did know, but he didn't want to face up to it.

Lucas knew exactly what he wanted and what he had to do, but how to go about doing it was the problem. Underneath a bundle of pictures, Lucas spotted a black object. He fished it out and held it in his hand. The ring-box. In it was Keith's ring, the one that Peyton should've been wearing but wasn't due to Lucas's screw-up.

His eyes jumped from the box to the pictures. An invisible spear pierced him as unseen molars gnawed at his insides. Frantically, he reached down with his free hand, turned the discarded drawer right-side up, and dropped the box into it. The velvet container met wood with a hollow thud and bounced once or twice before coming to rest in one of the corners. Lucas eyed the box for a second or two before he scooped up the pictures and CD cases by the armful and deposited them back into the drawer, burying the ring-box like a coffin under hallowed dirt.

When he finished clearing his bed, Lucas picked up the now full drawer and slammed it home in the dresser from whence it came. He swiveled his chair around and around, taking in a full panoramic view of his room. Filtered sunlight poured in through the windows and the rhythmic chirps of various birds penetrated the walls. It was the picture of serenity, the complete opposite of the chaos and roiling anguish inside Lucas's heart.

His eyes zeroed in on the closet. Slowly, he rolled himself forward and parted the doors. Various shirts suspended from hangers greeted him as well as an assortment of clutter. He wasn't sure what had prompted him to peek inside his closet and he wasn't sure why he was fishing out his basketball, which had sat untouched for months.

Nevertheless, Lucas rested the ball in his lap and shut the closet doors. A minute later, he was wheeling down the sidewalks of Burnett Drive, basketball secured between his legs. He wasn't consciously aware of his destination. Some unseen force, or maybe it was instinct, was driving him.

If any of the pedestrians he passed took notice of his shaggy, messy hair and overall disheveled appearance, they didn't let on. Lucas had tuned them and everything else out, anyway. He was being pulled toward something; something important and nothing else seemed to matter. The sights and sounds of this coastal town that had always centered him, made him feel like part of something bigger and more important than himself, were now little more than phantoms in his periphery.

Instinctively, Lucas had known where he would end up but as the wheels of his chair crunched wild grass and as the cries of seagulls reached his ears and as salty air tickled his nostrils, he still found himself taken aback by the sight of the Rivercourt in front of him.

It was home, yet not home. It was a sanctuary, yet it seemed to have been invaded by some malevolent enemy with the intent to do harm. It was familiar, yet so alien it could've been dreamed up by Tolkien or Heinlein. To Lucas, it was the cornerstone of his past, and to it, he was a damaged soldier who'd been away at war, and not just any war, but an ugly, bloody, in-the-trenches-with-gas-masks-on sort of campaign that had left him with unending traumatic memories and scars, both inside and out, that would never heal.

With no small amount of trepidation, he crept onto the tarmac. His wheels slowly navigated the craggy blacktop, cautiously, as if he were expecting IEDs to go off at any second and make his entrails a permanent stain on the court. For the next fifteen minutes or so, Lucas gradually explored every square-inch of purple sediment, re-mapping it in his head. He'd once known this surface better than he'd known his own body, but months of being away had made him aloof to its topography.

When he completed his survey, Lucas positioned himself a few feet directly in front of the nearest basket. The grimy backboard and rusty, chain-linked hoop loomed over him like the enormous statue of an Egyptian god. Slowly, almost sheepishly, he took hold of the ball in both hands and raised it to nose-level.

And then he shot his first free-throw since before being catapulted through a window and getting glass gouged into his spine. It didn't even come close to the rim.

His second shot missed by an even wider margin and his third one didn't fare much better. But then he actually managed to nail the backboard and the shot after that grazed the rim slightly. Finally, after about a dozen tries, he sunk a basket. The sound of rubber against chain was like an old song, one you hadn't heard in the longest time, suddenly playing on the radio.

It took him another three misses before he made his second shot and, little-by-little, the number of misses between made-it's thinned out. He didn't move much from his position directly off-center of the basket and it was his bladder that finally clued him in on how long he'd been out there, oblivious to the world around him.

Tucking the ball back into his lap, Lucas treaded his way back home, a thin sheen of perspiration coating him and a strange humming vibrating his very being. Back in his house, he stood the ball on the kitchen table and relieved himself. He took another bath, washing off the sweat accumulated after only a half-assed workout. After his bath, he suddenly found himself hungry, so he threw a few eggrolls into the microwave and chowed down with a glass of orange juice. Full, he tossed the dirty dish and glass in the sink without washing them, grabbed his ball, and was out the door and headed for the Rivercourt before the grime on the glassware had time to congeal.

Lucas shot around from his wheelchair for a few more hours, working up a second wave of sweat, and before he knew it, night charged in and conquered the sky. The steely light of the court's floodlights brought his shadow to life, mirroring his every move like a spectral opponent.

He was just about to knock down a three-pointer when she appeared on the blacktop, almost like magic.

Bronze skin glinted in the frosty glow of the floodlights and a rich mane of dark-blonde curls gleamed slightly as Peyton Sawyer, the physical manifestation of grace and beauty, walked towards him, green eyes tainted by residual redness and puffiness.

The ball dropped from Lucas's hands and meandered off toward the grass.

Clutched in her right hand was a small, black object that, as Peyton came nearer, Lucas recognized as the bound copy of his book, the one his mother had given him as a graduation present. In turn, Lucas had given it to Peyton to keep before she'd left for L.A.

An ominous lump formed in his throat at the sight of it encased in Peyton's death grip. Her posture was that of an ancient tree that had endured hundreds of years of storms and typhoon winds and was now sagging and on the verge of collapse.

Lucas knew that he was the one that had cast those storms and winds upon her, and it absolutely shredded him.

She stopped a few feet in front of Lucas, her eyes emerald pools of misery that threatened to drown him. She had on a brown vest that perfectly displayed her delicate arms and a pair of tight, ripped, light-blue jeans. She looked inviting, and Lucas would've loved nothing more than to leap up from his chair, grab her, and kiss the daylights out of her.

Peyton crossed her arms, wrapping them tightly around her lithe frame, still holding his book in her hand. No words were spoken between them, but a conversation began as he framed her green eyes in his blue ones. Love, hurt, joy, anguish, need, want, things of past and present; it was all there, a swarm of signals that passed between them via invisible cables that connected their pupils.

Lucas couldn't breathe, couldn't say a thing, and as Peyton uncrossed her arms and held the leather tome in front of her, as if she had taken it off the shelf of a bookstore and was examining it, his ominous feeling got worse. Her lips parted and allowed a whispery inhale to pass through them, and Lucas knew what she was about to say would kill him.

"It's a great book, Luke." Her voice was low and sounded wrung out. "It's so honest and truthful and so _you_ that it feels like you're speaking directly to me whenever I read it."

She took a deep, shuddering breath, clearly struggling to go on, and Lucas felt his heart thump painfully in his chest.

"Los Angeles changed me, Luke. It did, and I can't deny it anymore. I became this person I didn't respect and I didn't want you to see me like that so I started to push you away." Tears rolled down her cheeks and she sniffled.

Lucas couldn't hide his shock. What was she saying? Was she blaming herself now? That wasn't right and he wanted to speak up and tell her that, but anticipation silenced him.

"Whenever I had a really bad day and I wasn't able to talk to you," she continued. "I'd read this." She emphasized the object she was holding. "And for a little while, I'd feel like myself again, the Peyton you wrote about."

She looked away for a second, and then returned her watery eyes to his. "But each new day, I'd wake up in the morning with a hole inside me, knowing I wasn't that Peyton anymore and that I was just pretending, with this book and with you whenever we spoke on the phone."

Lucas shook his head, now fighting back tears of his own. Why hadn't he seen this all along? Why hadn't he noticed that she was suffering? Had the distance unhinged them that much? He opened his eyes and refocused them on hers. He had to hear the rest of this.

"When I saw that ring-box, I wanted to kiss you awake, throw my arms around you and shout yes from the top of my lungs. But as I sat there watching you sleep, it hit me that if I said yes, you'd end up marrying that other Peyton, the one I hated, instead of the one you grew up loving. So when you woke up, I panicked."

He gulped painfully.

"But," she proceeded, closing the distance between them slightly. "I stand by what I said before. We were too young and I did need to see if I could still make it out there."

He knew she was right, though it still pained him.

"The thing is, I spent all day today re-reading your words, cover-to-cover, and it hit me that I could've still chased my dreams and goals and had you by my side."

Lucas felt his brow furrow as he stared at her, barely able to believe she was actually saying this.

"When you offered to move to L.A. to be with me, I should've said yes, Luke. I needed you there with me but I was too damn stubborn to admit it. So I'm sorry, Luke. I'm sorry I hurt you, I'm sorry I blamed it all on you, and I'm sorry you got hurt, and I'm just sorry about everything."

Her voice broke apart and fresh tears spilled from her eyes. Lucas yearned to reach out and gently wipe those accursed things from her cheeks, but he was rooted in place, still unable to speak and too shell-shocked to do anything.

"I know it's too late for us," she lamented. Her hand extended toward him, offering him the leather, self-published novel it held. "And I know I have to let you go, so I'm giving this back to you."

Lucas reached out, machine-like, and accepted the book from her waiting hand, not even really comprehending what he was doing. The howling ache inside of him had reached a fever pitch when the words 'letting go' had passed her lips.

Peyton sniffled deeply. "When you love someone, sometimes you have to let them go, like Keith did for your mom, so that's what I'm going to do. And it's going to suck." She let out a weak, watery laugh. "But I'll do it because I love you Lucas, and I know it's what you want."

No! No, that wasn't what he wanted, but why the fuck couldn't he just say that?! Why couldn't he open his goddamn mouth?

Peyton leaned down slightly and placed her left hand on his right, squeezing faintly. Warm and soft, it sent shivers up Lucas's spine, and when she pulled away, he felt cold and empty. "I said I was going to love you forever, Lucas, and I meant it. It's okay that you don't love me anymore, because I have enough inside me for the both of us."

Speak! Speak, you idiot!

Slowly, on the verge of breaking down, and with more reluctance and heartbreak than he'd ever seen displayed on her before, Peyton Sawyer turned on her heel and proceeded to walk out of his life, for what would be the final time.

"Goodbye Luke, and get better," she whispered.

This was worse than any nightmare he'd ever had. The one woman he'd ever truly loved, the person who completed him, understood him in a way no one ever could, and the key to any chance of happiness was walking away from him and he couldn't seem to make himself stop her.

Why? What was jamming up his voice box? Indecision? Fear? What?

Suddenly, he felt it again. A tingle in his legs. That tingle then compounded and became like a colony of ants crawling down his legs. He could _feel_. Not all the way, but for the first time since his accident, he could perceive the lower half of his body.

At that moment, something passed through him. An energy he hadn't known in so long overtook him and filled every pour of his body. He dropped the book he'd been holding in his left hand and proceeded to manually remove his feet from the pedals and place them on the court.

"Peyton!" he half-shouted. The girl in question, who was almost on the grass, stopped and turned toward him warily.

Bracing himself on the armrests of his chair, he pushed himself up into a standing position, and somehow, he got the joints and muscles in his legs to lock and support his weight, if not wobbly. Peyton's eyes widened in shock and she turned halfway toward him.

"Lucas," she whispered.

"Don't," he gritted out. "Don't let me go."

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes filled with guarded hope. She stumbled toward him, her legs as unsteady beneath her as Lucas's were beneath him. She closed to within a couple of feet and he reached out for her. She took his hands in hers and their eyes locked once again.

Nothing mattered anymore. The botched proposal, their fight in the elevator, all of the negative emotions and garbage between them didn't matter anymore, because she was here and so was he, and that's what really mattered.

So, with a newly formed resolve, Lucas opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and told Peyton everything he'd ever wanted to tell her.

**~Chapter Twelve End**


	13. Making Amends

**A/N: **Not really sure how I feel about this chapter. If it comes off as rushed or ham-fisted, I apologize, but this story is winding down and I'm itching to move on. The next chapter will be the last.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed.;)

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Making Amends**

"Well, Mr. Scott," Peyton purred. "You certainly have a way with words."

Lucas let out a deep-throated laugh, the first in years. "Well, I did write a novel, even if no one wanted it."

"That's not true," she amended, shifting her nude body beneath the covers slightly as she brought her elbow to rest on the mattress, propping her head up with her hand. "That book was everything to me."

"'Was?'"

"Well, now I have you, so I don't really need it anymore." She giggled, and Lucas's heart melted at the sound. "Besides, being here with you, now, is all that matters." With that, she leaned over and gave Lucas a smoldering kiss, only one of countless he'd received over the past few hours.

She wrapped her arms around his torso, snuggling into him, her head resting near the crook of his neck. The feeling of her warm, impossibly soft skin nestled against his between the covers was like an opiate. Lucas still couldn't believe she was actually here, in his arms and in his bed.

Hours ago, he'd poured his heart out to her on the Rivercourt all while standing shakily on his neglected feet, Peyton's hands bracing him, holding him up. Halfway through his speech, she'd silenced him with a kiss, and this time, he hadn't pulled away.

Her kiss had knocked him right back into his chair and after that, the two of them had come back to his house and the rest, as they say, was history.

For the past several hours, they'd made love over-and-over again. Lucas had been seriously out of practice, having been celibate since they'd broken up, but it hadn't taken long for him to get back into the swing of things and Peyton had been more than happy to reacquaint him with her body.

They'd also talked, about everything. Well, not quite everything. Peyton still didn't know that the reason he'd never gotten Ravens published was because he'd been too bitter to answer the call of opportunity. He knew she'd be devastated if she found out and though it probably wasn't a good idea to start out their newly reformed relationship with a secret, Lucas just wasn't ready to tell her yet.

A deep, contented sigh seeped out of him as Peyton snuggled into him. Neither of them said anything for a few minutes, they simply basked in the comfortable silence like they'd always used to do. Lucas couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like this: light, content, happy. The girl of his dreams was back by his side and it didn't matter that he was still in a wheelchair because he knew it was only a matter of time before he'd be out of it.

Last night, on the Rivercourt, even if it had only been for a short time, he'd felt something in his legs and he'd actually stood under his own power. It may not have been much, but it was something, and Lucas couldn't help but think he had the green-eyed beauty in his arms to thank for it. Somehow, seeing her about to walk away from him, possibly forever, had awakened something in him and for the first time in a long time, he'd had a compelling reason to stand on his own two feet. Maybe the mind had more power over the body than most people realized.

As Lucas stared up at the ceiling above him, his euphoria began to fade. He had Peyton now, and that was what was most important, but he also had a ton of other relationships he had to repair. Friendships he'd tarnished and family bonds he'd forsaken out of his own inability to deal with his injury. Lucas missed them all; Nathan, Haley, his mother, Skillz, and everyone else he'd pushed out of his life.

Peyton placed a feathery kiss on the nape of his neck. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Lucas turned to her, amazed. "How'd you know?"

"You seriously have to ask me that?" She had one eyebrow cocked and her emerald eyes held gentle consternation in them.

Lucas chuckled. "Yeah, stupid question."

"Really stupid," she agreed, voice filled with mischief. "So, what's bothering you?"

He sobered up. "I've really screwed up, Peyt. Not just with us, but with everyone. Nathan, Haley, Skillz, my mom. I wouldn't blame any of them if they never talked to me again."

"You didn't mean to hurt them, Luke." She stroked his cheek lovingly. "You were scared and hurting. I would've been the same way."

Lucas shook his head. "I love you for saying that, but it's no excuse. I was a complete bastard." He looked away from her. "God, the things I said to my mom…I'll never forgive myself."

"Luke," Peyton whispered, placing her hand on his forearm and massaging it gently. "Stop doing this to yourself. Your mom loves you, and so do Nathan and Haley."

He turned his head back to her, back to her imploring and inviting gaze. "Why? Why would they after I treated them like trash?"

Peyton sighed as she sat up, the sheets falling from her body, exposing her nakedness. Her dark-blonde curls were like soft, organic gold in the dim glow emitted by the candles on the nightstand. Lucas marveled at this gorgeous creature in front of him. Desire threaded its way through him and he felt a discreet tightness in his exhausted manhood.

She stared at him hard. "Luke, Brooke and I talked to Haley on the phone. She was broken, Luke, but not because of anything you said to her. It was because she knew how much pain you were in and she couldn't help you. You're her best friend, Luke, and all she wants is for you to be happy and healthy."

Lucas had cried more in the past twenty-four hours than he had his whole life, so his tear-ducts were spent, otherwise, Peyton's words would've unraveled him yet again.

"And Nathan, he loves you, too," she asserted. "He thinks you hate him because of what happened to you."

Lucas felt his stomach drop at that. "What? I don't hate him. I never blamed him in the first place."

"Well, he blames himself." She looked at him severely. "You have to talk to him, Luke. And Haley, and everyone else. They all love you, and so do I."

Lucas leaned upward and kissed her, relishing the taste. "I love you, too, Peyton. So much."

Peyton's face lit up with a thousand-watt smile. Not soon after, that smile faded and was replaced with what could only be described as a look of boiling lust. "Are you tired?" she asked, her tone of voice setting off hundreds-of-thousands of goose bumps.

"Definitely not," Lucas replied, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Good." She threw herself on top of him and was attacking his neck, collar bone, and face with frantic kisses before he had the chance to warn her to be careful with his back.

At this point, though, Lucas didn't really care about the pain in his back anymore, since the pleasure Peyton was bestowing on him was infinitely greater.

Besides which, his manhood was no longer just discreetly tight or exhausted.

* * *

Rays of sun splashed through the windows on either side of the bed, thoroughly baking Peyton into the sheets, but she couldn't care less. She wasn't going to move for anything.

In Lucas's bed, laying on her right side, less than an inch from the boy she loved, Peyton watched the rise and fall of his chest. His head had drifted to the side slightly and his right arm was acting as a cushion between him and the pillow. The comforter was draped over him at chest level, giving her only a small peek at his lean torso, though she'd certainly gotten a full view last night.

She reached out, gently, with one arm and smoothed the hair from his brow. She'd have to cut it for him when she got the chance, not that Peyton didn't love the scruffy, longish do. Her ministration didn't wake him and she was grateful since she wanted to watch him a little while longer.

The expression 'pinch yourself' was terribly cliché and Peyton hated clichés, but she couldn't think of anything else that fit. All yesterday she'd been on the verge of a mental breakdown at the thought of having to let Lucas go for good. And now here she was, snuggled up beside him, fresh from a night of incredible lovemaking and whispered 'I love yous' and it all seemed like a dream to her. That she was actually still in her room in Brooke's house, and it was still yesterday, and she might wake up at any second and discover that none of this was real.

Lucas took in a shallow breath and his eyes opened. Even after all this time, he still did that whenever he woke up. He sniffed and turned towards her, blues eyes warming. "Hey blondie."

"Hey you."

He leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the lips, and she swooned; she couldn't help it. This was real.

He glanced over at the alarm clock, slightly obscured behind the now extinguished candles, which said 7:10am, and turned back to her, perplexed. "Wow, it's just a little after seven and you haven't bitten my head off. Things have changed."

"Shut up," she chided playfully. "I still might, so watch it."

He laughed and the sound made her heart sing. Here was the boy who'd fixed her car and her heart. He was back, and Peyton knew right then that everything was going to be alright.

His hand cupped her cheek and he pulled her in for a kiss. Memories of last night flashed through them and their kissing became full on making-out. Full on making-out was on the verge of becoming much more until the outside door to Lucas's bedroom exploded—not really—with enough force to shake the house as a human typhoon by the name of Brooke Davis blew in.

"Well, well, I knew it was only a matter of time," the redhead exclaimed, her brown eyes devouring the sight before her.

Peyton had never truly hated her best friend until this moment (not really.) But she was incredibly agitated at the interruption of what was going to be great morning sex, and she let Brooke know that via a smoldering glare. "Great timing as always, Brooke," she gritted out.

Brooke shrugged innocently before plopping herself down on the foot of the bed, causing the box-spring to jump slightly. "Well excuse me, but I was worried when you didn't come home. Obviously, you found another bed to sleep in."

"Brooke," Peyton huffed. She turned to Lucas, cheeks burning, only to be greeted with a bemused expression.

"Good morning, Brooke," he greeted. "Here to kick my ass some more?"

Brooke laughed at that while Peyton furrowed her brow. She looked at Lucas, then at Brooke. "What are you talking about?"

"Brooke gave me a little pep-talk yesterday afternoon," he explained vaguely.

"Let's just say Broody and I had a heart-to-heart," Brooke added even more vaguely.

"Really." Peyton really wanted to know what they'd talked about but she had a feeling neither of them would share. Oh well, she'd 'coax' it out of Lucas later.

"Anyway, I'm glad you two idiots have finally gotten your acts together." The brunette rose from the bed. "Now all is right with the world again. So, on that note, I have business to take care of. You two do whatever it is you were about to do before I walked in. Bye!" She was gone, the door slamming behind her before either Lucas or Peyton good get a word in.

For a few seconds, they just looked at each other. Then they burst out laughing. It felt great to cut lose like that, to just open herself up to a good laugh. Peyton's chest hurt and, by the time they settled down, so did her face as she couldn't keep the wide smile off it.

With long sighs, they laid back down. And then they finished what Brooke had interrupted.

* * *

Lucas had never actually been to the apartment complex that Skillz lived in. He'd been wheelchair-bound when his friend had moved back to town and Skillz had always picked Lucas up at his house whenever he'd driven him to physical therapy, so this was his first time seeing the place.

Four stories of red-brick stood before him, like a giant tooth with dried blood crusted on it protruding from the ground. It didn't look run-down per say, certainly heads above some of the seedier places on the edge of town, but it couldn't compare to the apartment building on Oakmont Terrace that Nathan and Haley had once lived in. Lucas just hoped there was an elevator; otherwise, his apology to Skillz would have to be shouted from the street.

There was. A rusty, grimy, sardine-box that screeched like a dying bird whenever the doors opened or closed. As the car rose, carrying Lucas up to Skillz's floor, all he could think was that he hoped there wasn't a power outage. Fortunately, there wasn't and the elevator deposited him onto his desired floor without incident. The interior here actually wasn't that bad. His wheels navigated dark-grey carpet that seemed to have been vacuumed recently and he was surrounded by wonderfully coated white walls and a white ceiling.

As Lucas neared Skillz's apartment, a vibrant nervousness nested in his stomach. He didn't know if his friend—if he could still be called that—would hear what he had to say or slam the door in his face. Lucas wouldn't blame him for doing the latter considering how they'd left things. What Lucas had done was inexcusable. He'd taken his anger and heartbreak out on Skillz when all his friend had been trying to do was help him. Worse, he hadn't been there for Skillz when he'd needed him. His uncle had died and Lucas hadn't even attended the funeral. He had no clue how he was going to dig his way out of this.

He nervously brushed a hand through his newly trimmed hair. Peyton had insisted on cutting it for him this morning after they'd dragged themselves out of bed. For Lucas, the entire experience had been flooring. Not because of any particular talent Peyton had with scissors, though she had done an impressive job, but because of the very act itself. Peyton, calmly giving him a haircut in his bedroom after an entire morning of enjoying each other in bed. That was something Lucas could get used to for a lifetime.

He was head-over-heels for the woman and there was no denying it.

And now, he was currently face-to-face with the door of Skillz's apartment. Sucking in a deep breath, Lucas reached out and knocked. A few seconds later, the door opened to a shocked looking Antwon Taylor. Skillz's eyes narrowed, the shock giving way to suspicion.

"You need something?" he bit out.

Lucas didn't begrudge him his tone. "Yeah, I do." He looked Skillz directly in the eye. "I need to apologize."

Skillz looked taken aback slightly, but he opened the door completely and retreated into the apartment. Lucas took that as an invitation and followed the former Raven, closing the apartment door behind him. The apartment in question was surprisingly spacious for a bachelor pad. A row of blind-covered windows decorated the wall directly in front of him, letting flat shafts of sunlight in through each slot.

To his right was the kitchen area where Skillz was currently eating a bowl of cereal on the marble counter. He stared at Lucas expectantly. "So, you just gonna' sit there ogling? Thought you had that apology you owe me."

"I owe you a lot more than that, man." Lucas sighed, shame burning his cheeks. "I'm really sorry. I don't know what came over me the other day. I was mad and you were in the line of fire, but that's not an excuse and I know that."

Skillz methodically slurped his cereal, eyes boring holes directly into Lucas. He said nothing.

"Look, I'll do anything to make up for what I did," Lucas continued. "And if that's not good enough for you and you tell me to get the hell out, I will, but I need you in my life, man. You've been one of my best friends since we were five and I don't want to see that end. I was a dick and you didn't deserve that."

Skillz paused, the spoon full of milky cheerios frozen a few inches from his mouth. "Go on."

"And…did I mention I was a jerk?" Lucas swore he saw the corners of Skillz's mouth tug upward slightly. "And, I'm really sorry about your Uncle Russell and that I wasn't at the funeral. I just figured you needed some space and I didn't want to barge in. Can you forgive me?"

Skillz gave him a long hard look and Lucas was afraid that he'd failed. But then Skillz let out a long sigh and dropped the spoon and its contents into the bowl. "Me and my Uncle Russell weren't even that close, we only saw each other a couple times a year. Plus, the funeral was pretty low-key and private; just blood family. You probably woulda' been out of place."

Lucas still held his breath, watching his friend. But then Skillz came out from behind the counter and stopped a foot from Lucas. He held up his fist and Lucas let out a sigh of relief as he bumped it with his own fist.

"We alright, man. You still my boy."

"Thanks Skillz. I promise that that version of me is gone," Lucas assured him. "Things are going to be different now."

"Hey, I said that if the ol' Luke came back I'd be here waitin'." He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "And from the looks of things, he back in the sack, too."

Lucas eyes squinted. "What?"

"Man, don't play dumb with me!" Skillz exclaimed, a gleeful expression on his face. "You got some action last night!"

Lucas snorted.

"And don't lie and say you didn't, because I know these things." Skillz jutted his chin out smugly.

"I don't what you're talking about."

"You don't-man, forget all that 'you my boy' stuff! You owe me the juicy details!" he asserted, sporting a Cheshire-grin.

"Whatever," Lucas laughed, slapping hands with his friend. For the next hour, he and Skillz chatted and shot the breeze like old times. Past indiscretions were forgotten and before long, things were back to the way they always had been.

Lucas only hoped it would be this easy with everyone else he'd hurt.

* * *

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of change. Gradually, Lucas's legs began to recover and he made more progress during this month than he had the three months preceding it. Feeling started to return, bit-by-bit, to his lower limbs and he went from being able to only wiggle his toes to being able to move his feet.

Peyton drove him to all his therapy sessions, and she joked about how sexy it would be if they got stuck in the elevator again. There would be no arguing, or talk of any kind, this time, she'd said. Lucas had just laughed and told her that they could pretend his bedroom was an elevator. In the meantime, his rehabilitation went incredibly. He no longer strained that much while navigating the bars and the watershed moment came when Lucas officially graduated from his wheelchair to crutches.

Needless to say, he'd been thrilled. So had Peyton, who'd given him a lingering kiss right in front of Dr. Capshaw, much to the older man's amusement. But the doctor also warned him that although it would be easier for him to get around, while on crutches, he was at a greater risk of falling and injuring himself. After exiting the clinic and adjourning to Peyton's car (she'd opted to bring him in the Comet this time) Peyton had turned to him and told him point blank that she was moving in with him; no objections. She didn't want to risk him being at his house alone and accidentally slipping and falling with no one nearby to help him.

Far from objecting, Lucas had kissed her and told her he loved her. "I would've asked you to move in even if I wasn't crippled."

So it was settled. The next day, Skillz and Brooke had helped schlep Peyton's stuff into Lucas's house, the latter complaining all the way. In preparation for her arrival the night before, Lucas had taken all of the contents of his Peyton-drawer, including the ring, and stored it in a sealed box which he hid beneath his bed. He hadn't been ready for her to see all that quite yet.

He still hadn't found the courage to have a proper sit-down with Haley or his brother yet, and certainly not his mother. Basketball season was just starting for Nathan, and he was going to be away at practice for weeks at a time. Lucas wanted to wait till he had some time off so he could speak to him and Haley together. As for his mother, she was still at sea with Andy and his little sister, and while he still spoke to Haley and Nathan in passing on the phone, he hadn't talked to his mother since he'd chased her out of his house all those months ago. He had no clue what he was going to say to her when he finally did work up the nerve to call her.

Peyton was supportive, comforting him when he needed it, and they would stay up for hours talking about it all while the music of The Veils or NOFX drifted from her vintage record player. She always seemed to know just what to say to calm his nerves. He did the same for her when she voiced her anxieties about the fact that she still didn't know what she was going to do with her life. She was tending bar at Tric for now, but her real passion was music, and she was scared she would never get another chance to pursue it.

"You will," he'd told her. Lucas wasn't sure why, but he'd decided it was the perfect time to confess to Peyton about how he'd let his own dream slip through his fingers. So he'd told her about how someone had called him saying they'd wanted to publish "An Unkindness of Ravens" right when he'd been at the airport the morning of their break-up. He'd then told her how he'd ignored the call and kept ignoring the calls until finally he'd gotten his manuscript back with a red, angry rejection notice stamped on it.

Lucas hadn't wanted to make her feel guilty but he hadn't wanted to keep things from her, either. However, the horror on her face and the tears in her eyes had instantly made him regret his choice of conversation topics. Peyton had hopped from the bed, dashed down the hall, and locked herself in the bathroom.

Feeling like a complete ass, Lucas had followed on his crutches and awkwardly camped out in front of the bathroom door. From there, he'd tried to talk to her; told her he loved her and that it wasn't her fault and that he just wanted her to come out so they could talk about it. Finally, he'd gotten through to her and she emerged from the bathroom…and then slapped him; hard.

All curls and fury, Peyton had told him in no uncertain terms that if he ever threw away an opportunity like that again she would never forgive him. Message had been received loud and clear, and the two had returned to the bedroom and proceeded to talk all night and then romp in the morning. It had made Lucas late for work but it had been more than worth it, especially since the air between him and Peyton had finally been completely cleared.

Peyton Sawyer was now living with him and Lucas got to wake up next to her every morning; life couldn't get much better.

But there were still things missing, things he had to face.

* * *

Bursts of frantic wind assaulted them as they drove, fluttering Lucas's shirt and imbuing Peyton's curls with a life of their own. Illuminated by the sunlight and animated by the wind, Peyton's mane of dark-blonde curls was like an eternal flame that mesmerized those that stared at it too long. Then again, Lucas could stare at any part of her and end up trance-like for hours, but that was just him. In any event, he was grateful to be able to lose himself in the sight of his girlfriend since it helped him control the crushing apprehension that was currently seizing him.

A cloudless, sun-streaked sky, screaming down open highway in the Comet with the top down, Peyton behind the wheel, and a great road mix blaring from the radio; one wouldn't think he'd have anything to be apprehensive about, and normally, this would've constituted the ideal day, but for Lucas, it was anything but.

It did, however, provoke a certain feeling of nostalgia in him. Years ago, he and Peyton had taken another ride just like this one to a place called River City, so she could confront her birth mother. It's not that she'd needed Lucas there with her when she'd spoken to Ellie, her birth mom, but that she'd simply needed him to make the trip with her, which Lucas had been more than happy to do, even if he had just gotten back together with Brooke the night before.

Things were different this time around. Ellie was long dead, he and Brooke were ancient history (as a couple anyway), and they weren't headed to River City but to Charleston, and it wasn't Peyton who needed support, it was Lucas. That, plus Dr. Capshaw had told him it'd be another week before he was clear to drive again.

But even if he had been able to drive himself, Lucas didn't think he'd have been able to do this without Peyton by his side. 'This' being the sojourn to Nathan and Haley's place.

It was the first Thursday of October and Lucas happened to know that Nathan had the day off today. And since Jamie would most likely be at school, it was the perfect time for him to drop in on his brother and Haley and sort things out (or at least try to). He needed Peyton here with him because it scared the hell out of him.

Throughout the drive, they hadn't spoken much. Peyton knew there were no words she could say to ease him so instead she simply drove, occasionally placing her hand on his and favoring him with a reassuring smile. Those simple gestures did more for Lucas than any words of comfort could have.

The 'Welcome to the City of Charleston' sign flashed past them and Lucas was once again struck by a bout of nostalgia. The last time he'd passed by that sign, he'd been with Keith. His junior year of high school had just concluded, he'd missed the game-winning shot of the State Championship game, and he'd royally fucked things up between him and Peyton and Brooke, so at the time, Lucas had thought it a good idea to get away from the hotbed of his mistakes.

Keith, stung after Karen had rejected his proposal, had opted to start his life over in Charleston and Lucas had decided to go with him, partly because he'd wanted to look after Keith but mostly because he'd wanted his own fresh start. To be clear, 'fresh-start' had been code for 'hidey-hole,' which Lucas had used to duck his problems instead of facing them. He really wished he could say he'd learned from that mistake but recent events proved he hadn't.

Peyton's hand found his once again and gave a comforting squeeze. Lucas turned to her, their eyes meeting, and he could tell she knew exactly what he was thinking about, which was kind of freaky but also heart-rending. It occurred to him that he was the luckiest guy on the face of the planet.

The Comet cruised through various side-streets, its passengers searching for 1423 Old Stage Road, Nathan and Haley's address. They finally located Old Stage and eventually came upon 1423, which belonged to an impressive, two-story, modern Victorian home with a lengthy driveway and a well-tended lawn that wrapped around the property.

"Wow," Peyton whispered, slowing the Comet down to a crawl as she approached the asphalt driveway.

"Yeah, they're obviously still benefiting from that shoe contract money," Lucas quipped.

Peyton flashed him a grin and then pulled the Comet into the driveway. They came to a stop behind a trio of automobiles that were parked in front of the attached garage. There was a silver Range Rover that Lucas had seen a few times before, a cherry-red Audi sports car that he could only assume belonged to Nathan, and a jet-black Chevy Equinox. Lucas didn't remember hearing about them getting a third car, but then he had to remind himself—with great shame—that he really hadn't spoken to either of them at length for the past three months, so of course he wouldn't know something like that.

After engaging the parking break, Peyton cut the engine, silencing the Comet. For a while, they just sat there staring at the house in front of them, before Peyton finally broke the silence. "You ready for this?"

Lucas sighed. "No, but if I wait any longer, I'll lose my nerve."

Peyton smiled sadly at him and then leaned over to kiss him. For an instant, Lucas lost himself in her taste and the feel of her lips entwined with his, but soon the spell ended and they broke apart. "You can do this, Luke," she soothed. "Just remember that they love you no matter what, and they just want to be part of your life again, and you deserve to have them in your life."

Peyton peppered his cheek with one last kiss. "I'll be right there beside you," she assured him.

"Always?"

"Always."

Lucas reached back and retrieved his crutches, opening the passenger door. Using the crutches as support, he pulled himself into a standing position. Crutches secure between his armpits, he closed the passenger door with his weight and propelled himself toward the house, Peyton flanking him. The nervous bubble in his gut expanded as they navigated the walkway and all but burst as they ascended the porch steps.

Peyton looked at him expectantly. Swallowing hard, Lucas rang the doorbell. A two-toned chime sounded from within the house. The side-windows were frosted glass so Lucas couldn't spot any movement inside. A part of him hoped that maybe they'd gone out for a walk or something, but the point was made moot by the click of the lock and turning of the doorknob.

The door opened and Lucas's best friend of fifteen years stood in the threshold, gaping at him and Peyton. Haley James Scott's small, delicate mouth made a near perfect "o" as her hazel eyes took in the sight before her. Her chestnut-brown hair was chin-length short and somewhat poufy. A white, fluffy top hugged her petite frame and she sported a pair of dark-blue jeans.

"Lucas? Peyton?" she breathed, practically in awe.

"Hi Haley," Peyton greeted, giving a bashful wave.

"Wh…how…why…" Haley stuttered. It was actually kind of funny. Then, Haley seemed to take note of Lucas's crutches. "Luke! You're not in a wheelchair anymore!"

"Yeah, I've moved up in the world," he joked, hoping to break the ice. Haley just continued to stare at him, her eyes full of hope and hurt and so many other emotions that pained Lucas to see so he had to look away. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I wanted to surprise you. Do you think we could…?"

"Oh God, of course, come in!" Haley hustled them inside. Her face still registered shock and Lucas didn't miss the way her eyes scanned both him and Peyton, as if they were a pair of aliens whose starship had broken down and needed to use their phone to make an interstellar long distance call.

Making his way inside Nathan and Haley's house for the first time, Lucas couldn't deny being impressed. Like the exterior, the interior was also modern Victorian, with polished hardwood floors, European-style wallpaper, and an imposing staircase with a finely crafted baluster. Furnishings that clearly hadn't been purchased at a dollar store decorated the foyer and Lucas couldn't help but wonder if they'd been included with the house when the couple had bought it.

Haley ushered them into the den and Lucas and Peyton sat down on a plush, leather couch, one of two that were adjacent to each other. The two couches formed a right angle that encased a glass coffee table. Across from them, a large plasma screen television was mounted on the wall and complemented by a DVR box, Blu-Ray player, and Nintendo Wii. This room definitely had a lot of Nathan's and probably Jamie's touch to it.

"Do you guys want anything?" Haley asked nervously. Her eyes were darting every which way and her hands were rubbing one another furiously.

"No thanks," Peyton said.

"Actually, I was hoping to talk to you and Nathan together," Lucas explained.

"He's upstairs," Haley told them. "I'll go get him." She whisked out of the room like a stray breeze and the thud-thud-thud of her frantic footsteps on the stairs resounded through the den.

Lucas turned to Peyton and she covered his hand with hers, stroking his knuckles with her thumb. The look in her eyes told him he was doing great, and, unable to resist, Lucas captured her lips with his. The kiss was deep and warm, and just what he needed at the moment. They broke apart and rested their foreheads together, nose-to-nose, pupil-to-pupil.

The clump-clump of two sets of feet coming down the stairs caused them to separate and straighten up. Haley returned with Nathan behind her. Lucas got a good look at his brother for the first time in months. Dressed in a short-sleeve polo shirt and a pair of black sweat pants, Nathan Scott looked every bit the professional basketball player in training.

"Luke," he greeted somewhat cautiously, and then turned to Peyton. "Good to you see you again, Sawyer."

"Likewise," Peyton replied, giving him a smile. "How's basketball going?"

Nathan shrugged. "Hard work, but worth it." He and Haley sat down on the other couch and exchanged furtive glances that didn't go unnoticed by Lucas.

He didn't blame them for being cagey. Lucas had treated them like crap and they probably expected him to start hurling abuse any second. He wished he could take it all back, every word he'd ever said to them in anger, and he hoped that now would be his chance to do just that. Problem is, he didn't quite know how to go about saying it, and for a minute, all four of them sat there in an oppressive silence, no one really knowing what to say.

Fortunately, Nathan broke the stalemate. "Luke, what happened to your chair?"

"Oh, I don't need it anymore. I can actually sort of walk now, but I need crutches to support myself. Dr. Capshaw said that in another week, I might even be able to drive again." Lucas actually felt a little bit of pride in telling them this. Back in the beginning, when he'd been disgruntled and inconsolable, Nathan and Haley had always tried to reassure him that if he worked hard at it, he'd get his mobility back, but Lucas had been having none of it. Now, they'd been proven right.

"Luke, that's awesome, man," Nathan congratulated.

Haley followed suit. "God, I'm so glad, Luke."

Lucas was touched by their genuine delight and he realized in that moment, much to his chagrin, that they'd always been on his side. He just hadn't been able to see that.

"So, anyway…" Lucas began, but his voice trailed off and he found himself tongue-tied. He decided to pad the conversation with a lighter topic before things got serious. "I noticed you guys got a new car."

Nathan and Haley looked at one another quizzically, and then turned back to him. "What do you mean?"

"That black Chevy in your driveway? It looks nice."

"Oh! Oh, right, yeah, the Chevy…umm.." Nathan didn't finish his sentence, but instead glanced at Haley apprehensively and then the both of them glanced at the foyer with unmistakable anxiety.

Lucas wondered what was up. Were they late for some appointment? Did they have company? Whatever the case, Lucas figured he'd better cut to the chase, but before he could, Haley jumped in.

"I'm a little surprised to see the two of you here together. Are you two…?"

Holding their intertwined hands up, Lucas couldn't help smiling. "Yeah, actually, we're together."

Haley's face lit up. "That's great! I'm so happy for you two."

"Thanks Hales," Peyton said.

"Yeah, it's about time you two got your acts together," Nathan remarked.

"You're right," Peyton agreed. "I spent three years out in L.A. completely lost and searching for something I already had waiting for me back home." Her green eyes caressed him lovingly and Lucas couldn't stop himself from planting a gentle kiss on her temple.

For an instant, it almost felt like old times. Like the accident had never happened and there was no estrangement. But when Haley favored him with a burdened smile and told him it was good to see him smiling again, Lucas remembered why he'd come here.

"Listen, I don't want to beat around the bush any longer." Sucking in a mouthful of air, Lucas took the plunge. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the way I've acted and for the person I've been, and for the way I treated you two. And I'm sorry for cutting you out of my life for the past four months. I know there's no excuse and I'm not going to try and offer one. You were just trying to help me and I was completely blind to that."

He blew out a shuddery breath and felt Peyton's hand squeeze his. Nathan and Haley looked completely taken aback, and Lucas continued to force out his confession, not ready for them to speak just yet. "I know I can't make up for what I did and I'll understand if you don't want anything to do with me, but…but, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I miss you guys and I miss the way things used to be. Nathan, you're my brother and Haley we've been best friends since we were eight, and I know I've taken all of that for granted, but I don't want to do that anymore. Can you forgive me?"

The silence that followed was nerve-wracking and Lucas couldn't keep his heart rate under control. Peyton continued to cradle his hand, seemingly imbuing strength directly into him. In the meantime, Nathan and Haley still hadn't said anything and Lucas wondered if he blew it. But then, Haley's eyes misted over and she launched herself at him. Bracing himself for a hard slap, he was instead completely shocked when she threw her arms around him and collapsed into his lap, engulfing him in a warm hug as she buried her face into his chest.

"Welcome back, buddy. I missed you so much," she whispered.

Lucas could only hug her back, afraid that he might choke up if he tried to speak. He glanced at Peyton, who had let go of his hand and was also looking like she was fighting back tears. "I missed you too, Hales."

Over Haley's shoulder, Lucas noticed Nathan looking at his feet. "What about you, Nate? Can you forgive me?"

His brother looked up. After several agonizing seconds, he finally spoke. "Only if you can forgive me."

Haley pulled away and shifted herself onto the seat cushion next to Lucas, hastily wiping at her tear-rimmed eyes. Lucas, now free of his best friend's embrace, grabbed his crutches and pulled himself to his feet. Nathan also stood up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

"Nate, I've already told you that I don't blame you, and I'm sorry if I made it seem like I did, but if forgiveness is really what you need then you can have it," Lucas told him. "It's water under the bridge, little brother."

Nathan didn't reply. Instead, he gave Lucas a manly hug and a playful pat on the shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Luke."

"It's good to be back." Lucas felt the invisible chain that had been suffocating him the whole way here break apart and fall away.

"Luke, you're family. We'll always be there for you," Haley soothed. She turned to Peyton. "And so are you." Peyton stood up and the two women embraced. "I'm sorry for the way I acted on the phone the other day."

"No, Hales, I'm sorry," Peyton countered. "I should've kept in touch more. I really did miss you guys like crazy all these years."

"Well, we missed you, too."

"Yeah," Nathan cut in. "It wasn't the same without you and Brooke around."

"Well, I'm just glad to be back," Peyton said.

Lucas smiled at her, and then turned back to Nathan. "So are we good?"

"Of course," Nathan assured him. His eyes still held some apprehension, though. "I'm just glad you don't hate me."

Lucas cocked his head. "I never hated you. If there was anyone I hated, it was myself."

"Luke." Peyton placed a hand on his shoulder, her eyes radiating sympathy.

"Don't say that," Haley reprimanded.

"Yeah, Luke," Nathan followed suit. "Don't be so hard on yourself. If it'd been me, I probably would've been just as angry and confused as you were. You're a great guy, Luke, and you just lost your way. It happens, hell, it's happened to me too many times to count."

Lucas just shook his head. "I appreciate it, but it doesn't change what I've done. Especially to my mom. The things I said to her I'll never be able to take back."

"You just did," a voice spoke.

Everyone turned toward the person that had just entered the room.

"Mom?"

**~Chapter Thirteen End**


	14. Getting Back Up

**A/N: **Well, this is it folks, the last chapter. It took me almost a year, but I finally finished this story. It didn't turn out the way I expected it to, or wanted it to. I still have a long way to go before I can call myself a halfway decent writer and this story was in many ways an experiment, just like my first story, "Suddenly Everything is Clear."

Anyway, this chapter is much shorter than the others. It's basically an epilogue. I'd like to thank everyone who kept up with this story and I'm sorry it took so long for me to write. I hope the ending doesn't disappoint too much because I kind of wrote this last chapter in a rush.

So, without further ado, here's the conclusion to "Falling Down."

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Getting Back Up**

"Mom?"

Lucas stared at his mother. She'd grown her glossy-black hair out and it now spilled down her shoulders. Her skin was tanned from being at sea for so long, and the bronze hue looked good on the older woman.

Now it all made sense. The Chevy didn't belong to Nathan or Haley; it was probably a rental that his mother had driven here. Karen had been upstairs the whole time, which is why Nathan and Haley had been so jittery. Obviously, they hadn't wanted Lucas to cross paths with his mother, which was understandable given the things Lucas had said to her the last time they'd been in each other's presence.

As he stood only feet away from the woman that had birthed him and raised him, Lucas felt self-loathing trickle into every pore. Karen Roe, at only eighteen, had put her entire life on hold and sacrificed all of her dreams and goals to raise him alone, a task that must've been singularly frightening and endlessly daunting. She'd always been there for him, forgiven him no matter how badly he'd screwed up, and had given him all the love and support any son could've ever asked for. And how had Lucas repaid her?

By throwing her out of his house, the house that had once been hers, the one she'd bought and paid for with endless hours of back-breaking labor. By accusing her, in not so many words, of abandoning him to go and be with Andy and robbing him of the chance to get to know his little sister. By complaining about her smothering him when she'd voiced the notion that she might finally want to move back to Tree Hill. These were all things Lucas had blasted his mother with three months ago, out of anger and frustration and fear.

He couldn't meet her eyes, so he turned away. In his periphery, Lucas noticed Nathan, Haley, and Peyton quietly slip out of the room, apparently wanting to give mother and son some privacy. Teetering on his crutches, Lucas still avoided his mother's gaze. She approached him slowly until she was directly in front of him.

"Lucas," she spoke. "Please look at me."

Timidly, Lucas complied. There wasn't anger or hatred in his mother's eyes, as there should've been. Instead, all Lucas saw was compassion and love. Then she hugged him, gently but firmly. His mother's familiar scent catapulted him back to his childhood; all those days when he'd had a bad day at school, or someone had teased him about his lineage, or any number of times when he'd needed comfort, a hug from his mother and that familiar fragrance of hers had always made him feel safe and secure.

"Mom," Lucas whispered, voice cracking. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean those things I said."

"I know you didn't, sweetie," she soothed. "I know you didn't."

Karen pulled back and prompted Lucas over to the couch Nathan and Haley had just vacated. The two sat down, Lucas awkwardly freeing himself from his crutches and plopping down on the couch cushion. His mother took his hand and squeezed, not unlike Peyton had when he'd been talking to Nathan and Haley.

"I was visiting Nathan and Haley," she explained. "Andy and I were actually in the area, and I wanted to see how they were doing. I would've come down earlier but I wasn't sure you'd want to see me."

"I'm sorry for making you think I wouldn't," he apologized. "I'm sorry for a lot of things."

Now with both hands encasing Lucas's, Karen looked him straight in the eye. "Lucas, I already told you that it's alright."

"But it isn't!" he snapped. "I had no right to treat you like that. I'm horrible. I'm a terrible son, and…"

"Stop it!" his mother's voice lashed out. Her eyes were reprimanding in an all too familiar way. "Lucas, don't you dare say that. You're a wonderful man and the perfect son. You were scared and in pain, and the only thing that hurt me was that I couldn't help you."

Lucas shook his head, unable to believe that she could be so forgiving after the things he'd said and done. "But ma'…"

"But nothing," she cut him off. "Lucas, do you remember how I was after Keith died?"

He nodded. How could he forget?

"I was in so much pain and I didn't think I'd ever feel joy again. It was as if my whole world had ceased to exist." She teared up and her voice caught. "I said things to you that I regret to this day, but you never held it against me."

"Because I knew Keith wouldn't have," he told her. "Besides, you'd just lost the man you loved and were going to marry, I still had all the people I loved around me when I lost the use of my legs. It's not the same thing. I should've been grateful for what I still had and not bitter about what I didn't. Keith would be so disappointed in me."

"No, he wouldn't," affirmed Karen. "Keith would be so proud of the man you've become. Your uncle wasn't perfect; he made mistakes, too, but he always did the right thing in the end, just like you."

Lucas blinked. "Like me?"

"Yes." She smiled at him and he felt just like a kid again, that kid who had always had trouble accepting compliments. "You may have lost your way, Lucas, but you're finding it back. I'm so proud of everything you've accomplished this past month, and I'm so glad you and Peyton found your way back to each other."

Surprised, Lucas squinted at his mother. "How did you…?"

"Peyton," she said simply. "She wrote to me a few weeks ago and we've kept in contact ever since. I hope you won't be upset at her, but I wanted to know how you were doing so badly so I asked about you all the time."

Lucas wasn't upset. A couple of months ago, he probably would've thrown a fit, but now all he wanted to do was throw his arms around Peyton and kiss her breathless. He didn't think it was possible to be more in love with the curly blonde than he was now, or more humbled at how enormous her heart was. And in that instant, he knew, just as he always had, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with that woman.

"I'm glad she wrote you," he said earnestly. "And I'm sorry I didn't. I wish I could take back everything."

"Lucas." Karen reaffirmed her grip on his hand. "Life doesn't give any of us a blueprint. We have to learn as we go along and it's inevitable that we're going to slip and fall down sometimes. But so long as we keep a firm grip on who we are, then we'll always manage to pull ourselves back up and dust ourselves off. You fell down, Luke, but you never completely lost sight of who you were, otherwise, you wouldn't be here right now."

His mother always knew exactly what to say and how to say it. It was a gift, the way Karen Roe could spin words into wisdom, and Lucas wondered if maybe she should've been the writer and not him. Plus, she was right. With that admission, the weight of guilt that had been pressing down on him relented significantly. It wasn't totally gone, but it was definitely less prominent.

"I love you, ma'."

"I love you too, son."

They hugged again and when they pulled apart, his mother smoothed his hair in that way that mothers do. "Now, I want to hear everything."

So they talked and Lucas caught her up on everything. Nathan brought Jamie home from school later on and Lucas got to spend some quality time with his nephew. Then, all six of them sat down to dinner where conversation flowed freely and comfortably. It was the first time in a long time that Lucas had gotten to sit down to a family dinner and as they ate and talked, he snuck glances at Peyton next to him, and wondered if things could be any more perfect. He'd been dreading coming here for days but it turned out to be the best thing for him.

After dinner, and after Nathan and Haley had put Jamie to bed, they found themselves back in the den. Haley and Karen sipped wine while the guys and Peyton nursed beers. They all talked late into the night and when things finally died down, it was agreed that Lucas, Peyton, and Karen should spend the night since it was too late for any of them to be driving. Goodnights were said and eventually Lucas and Peyton were alone in the guest bedroom.

Propping himself down on the bed, Lucas cast his crutches aside and grabbed Peyton, pulling her into his lap. He planted a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you," he whispered, and she simply smiled at him. She didn't have to ask what he was thanking her for and he didn't have to tell her. That was one of the things that was so great about them.

"I'd do anything for you, Luke." Her green eyes reflected complete love and adoration and he knew she meant every word.

Lucas's heart felt like it could burst at the seams and as they lay down on the bed, her nestled into him, he stared at the ceiling and pictured their future together; a future in which she wore Keith's ring and the two of them sported matching gold bands. That and so much more, like sonogram pictures, a nursery, and a little girl with blonde locks, blue eyes, and a love of literature and art and music.

"I'm so proud of you," Peyton said, nuzzling into his neck.

He grinned. Soon, very soon, he was going to make that future a reality.

* * *

_Seven Months Later…_

The sky was richly blue and clear, save for a few tufts of white, puffy clouds on this Monday afternoon. It was May and the seasonal heat was beginning to make itself known. Fortunately, a gentle breeze stood its ground against the oncoming summer weather, and ruffled the branches of the trees and the grass in defiance.

It was the perfect day for Lucas Scott and Peyton Sawyer to get married.

It was also the perfect place. They'd chosen to hold their wedding ceremony on a fertile grove located directly across the lake from River Road. If you knew Lucas and Peyton, you'd understand why this venue was so significant. Six years ago, back when the bride and groom had been teenagers, Peyton's car had broken down on River Road, and Lucas, then working at his uncle's auto shop, had been sent to assist her. It was the first time they ever spoke and the beginning of the journey that ultimately lead them to this day. Since the clearing where Lucas and Peyton had shared their first words was far too small to ever host a wedding, they'd opted for the next best thing.

The wedding alter, fashioned out of branches, faced the water and provided a clear view of River Road. In many ways, it was like a gateway into their past. Leading to the altar, a long carpet bisected rows of foldable plastic chairs, providing a makeshift aisle for the bride to walk down when the time came. The entire setup was simple and modest and exactly how the soon-to-be-married couple wanted it.

Further back from the ceremony grounds, an assortment of tents had been erected to provide dressing rooms for the various members of the wedding party. In the groom's tent, Lucas stood at a full length mirror putting the finishing touches on his tuxedo. He was glad it was the version that required a bowtie as he'd always had trouble with ties. Giving the bow one last tug, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. It had been a couple of months since he'd started walking without the aid of a cane yet it still sometimes amazed him to see himself standing on his own two legs. There'd been a time when he'd convinced himself he'd never be able to again.

That time was over, and now Lucas was ready to leave it behind him for good and move forward. Forward into the life he'd always dreamed of. Today, he was going to officially make Peyton Sawyer his wife. Not long after he'd reconciled with Nathan and Haley and his mother, he'd taken his first step without crutches or a cane. It had also been the day he'd asked Peyton to marry him.

That day, Lucas had taken her out for a drive in the Comet. They'd cruised by the coastline and through the back roads of Tree Hill, her favorite mix in the CD player, the top down, and their hands joined together. Hours of joyriding later, Lucas had turned onto River Road and pulled into the little grassy knoll the Comet had broken down on all those years ago. After they'd gotten out and stretched their legs, Lucas had gently commanded Peyton to turn around and close her eyes. She'd raised her eyebrow and asked him what he was up to and complained that she hated surprises, but he'd convinced her to do it anyway.

With her back turned, Lucas had pulled out the ring box he'd tried to give her back in L.A. and kneeled down on his still creaky legs. When he'd given Peyton the okay to turn back around, and her eyes had taken in the sight before her, she'd lunged at him, grabbed Keith's ring from its velvet container, and slammed it on her finger before the words 'Will you…' had left his mouth. Then she'd pulled him up onto his feet, thrown herself around him, and whispered in his ear: "Of course I'll marry you."

It had been perfect.

The months that had followed heralded a lot of change. Nathan, Haley, and Jamie moved back to Tree Hill while Brooke opened a Clothes Over Bros boutique in the building that had once been Karen's Café. Victoria, her mother, had tried to run interference but Brooke stood her ground and made her shop a success while still running its parent corporation from the small town she'd been born in. In the meantime, Peyton had started her own record label, Red Bedroom Records out of one of the storage rooms at Tric, and had signed her first successful act, Mia Catalano, after only a few weeks of the label's founding. And then eventually, she acquired her second artist, none other than Haley James Scott, who was in the process of recording her first official album.

Of course, when Nathan had made into the NBA as point guard for the Charlotte Bobcats, she'd had to hold off on the record for a bit while she and Jamie adjusted to their radical new lifestyle. Needless to say, it had been incredible for Lucas to witness his brother finally achieve his dreams, especially after he'd come so close to losing them that night one year ago. Things had been hectic, though, and Nathan had had to fight tooth and nail to get time off so he could attend the wedding. Lucas was glad, since it wouldn't have been the same without his best man by his side.

As if on cue, the best man slipped into the tent. Lucas turned around to greet his brother, who was fully adorned in his own tux.

"Not getting cold feet are you?" the dark-haired Scott joked.

"Funny," Lucas deadpanned.

Nathan chuckled. "Seriously, though, how you holding up?"

"I'm anxious but I'm not nervous," he replied honestly. "I just want Peyton to be my wife."

For a minute, they were silent. Lucas sensed that Nathan had something he wanted to say but he didn't push him. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long for his brother to come out with it.

"Listen Luke," he began, taking a deep breath. "I don't say things like this often because it's kind of weird, but you're a hell of a brother and a great guy." Nathan's hand found Lucas's shoulder and he turned to stare at the taller man.

"Nate…"

"No, seriously Luke, if it weren't for you I might've been the one in that wheelchair and I probably wouldn't be where I am now if you hadn't jumped in when I was getting my ass kicked." Nathan looked down slightly. "I'm just sorry you suffered so much because of my stupidity."

Lucas sighed. "Look Nate, we've been through this before. It's water under the bridge, so let's say we leave it like that, okay?"

Nathan nodded. "Yeah, you're right." The two brothers shook hands and hugged, patting each other on the back.

"Anyway," Nathan said after he pulled away. "I just heard from Haley. Peyton's ready. Are you?"

Lucas turned back to glance at his reflection one last time as he spoke. "I feel like I've been ready for this my whole life, little brother."

"Then let's go get you married, big brother."

* * *

Life beat you up sometimes. It knocked you down and stomped on you, and it left you for dead. When that happened, you had a choice: you could curl up in a ball and wallow in self-pity or you could climb back onto your feet, dust yourself off, and learn from the experience. Lucas had learned a lot this past year, but the most important thing he'd learned was that no matter how dark the night was, the sun always came up in the morning.

Drenched in sunlight, standing at the altar with his brother/best man by his side, while his best friend of fifteen years served as the minister and his fiancée's best friend served as the maid of honor, Lucas marveled at how much had changed in a year. Last year, around this time, he'd been in the darkest place of his life, and now, he was about to step into the greatest. For one deranged moment, he wondered if this was all a dream and that he was still in that hospital room, legs atrophied and spine ravaged.

His eyes scanned the guests seated in the plastic chairs. To his left, in the front row, sat Skillz, Junk, Fergie, and Mouth and Millicent. To his right, there was his mother and Andy, Deb, and Whitey. Further back was Dr. Capshaw and his wife as well as several of Lucas's former teammates. The only person missing was Larry Sawyer who hadn't been able to make it because his ship was stuck off the coast of Iceland.

Lucas spotted his little sister and his nephew as they made their way down the aisle, sprinkling white rose petals on the carpet. Then, the wedding march began to play and he felt the very air itself shiver with anticipation. When she appeared at the end of the aisle, Lucas lost his breath as wonder and awe filled him.

Slowly, delicately, Peyton advanced toward the altar, toward him, and all eyes focused on the bride. Lucas could've described her as an angel, or a goddess, or a vision, but those terms all seemed so trite and inadequate. The silvery-white gown Brooke had designed hugged her womanly frame perfectly. Bathed in the sun's rays, her veil was like a halo above her mane of dark-blonde hair. The curls were gone, replaced by gentle waves and although Lucas had always loved her curls, the new do suited her fine. With feather-soft steps, she continued her trek up the aisle and all Lucas wanted to do was place his hands on her creamy skin and kiss her into unconsciousness.

But what really made his heart thunder and his mouth run dry, was her protruding stomach. She was carrying his child, their child, and in about a month they would truly have everything they'd ever wanted. Lucas's eyes connected with her green ones and he almost passed out from the sheer intensity of love that radiated from them. Life had tried to separate them. It had thrown roadblocks and obstacles in their way, and it had tried everything it could to pry them apart, but it had failed. Lucas had made plenty of mistakes and bad choices when it had come to Peyton and vice-versa, but it didn't matter anymore because here they were.

After an agonizingly long wait, Peyton finally reached the altar and before long, their hands were intertwined. The warmth and electricity that coursed through him made Lucas feel more alive than he ever had before. They were connected on a level so deep it couldn't be measured. Lucas knew it wouldn't always be easy. He knew there would be bad times, but that was alright because they'd get through it together. This woman was going to be by his side forever.

Lucas had fallen down but he'd gotten back up. Now, as he held Peyton's hands in his and stared into her eyes, he knew she'd be there to catch him if he ever fell again.

He never would've been able to pull himself back up if she hadn't offered a helping hand, and for that, he would love her forever.

**~Falling Down End**


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